


All You Need is Rum

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Tiki Culture, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has to beg assistance from Lestrade to find Sherlock, who is hiding from being given an assignment.  What Mycroft discovers as he visits the DI to make the request raises more than his eyebrow...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Now, this was the life.  Not a life he could enjoy very often because of his bastardy job, but maybe that’s why it was so sweet.  Treats were _always_ the sweetest, now weren’t they?  And… for fuck’s sake.  Who was knocking on his door at this… oh.  It was after 8:00 pm, wasn’t it, and he’d forgotten to turn down the music so Mrs. Greene would be on the other side of that door glaring at him because her dramas were on and they didn’t need ‘that infernal music of yours for a soundtrack.’  Put on the apology face and the ‘well, aren’t you a looker’ smile so she didn’t make the lecture last more than a fortnight and he could get back to the important things.

     “I’m sorry, Mrs. Greene, I didn’t notice the time… and…”

     “I have been called more than a few names in my life, Detective Inspector, but that one is not, as best I can remember, part of my portfolio.”

Mycroft Holmes.  What in the world was sexy, long and luscious Mycroft Holmes doing at his front door?  And on relaxation night!  Oh no…

     “I do apologize, though, if I have caught you at an inopportune moment.  You appear… occupied?”

No, just having an alone party, which I fully realize is sad and pathetic, but it’s really fun actually, so please don’t think I’m mental.  Though you’re already looking at me that way, so I’m doomed.

     “Not at all, just having a quiet night in and… having a quiet night in.  Can I… would you like to come in?”

Please say no because you haven’t seen all the party decorations and that’s probably a very, very good thing for more than one pressing reason.

     “Thank you, that is most kind.”

Shite! Lestrade gritted his teeth as the older Holmes brother strolled regally into his flat and took in the full splendor of the ambiance.

     “Are you certain you are not occupied, Detective Inspector?”

     “No… it’s just… I don’t have a lot of free nights and…”

     “You enjoy, as they say, making the most of them?”

     “That’s… that’s about it.”

And ‘the most of them’ was absolutely boggling Mycroft’s mind, not to mention his senses.  The music, lighting, garments, décor… it was glorious!  The number of times per day he indulged in fantasy about the handsome and vigorous Detective Inspector was too shameful to dwell upon, but this!  That number would now be doubled and woe be to those who relied upon his mental faculties for they were officially defunct.

     “I see.  I had no idea you were an aficionado of, actually, I find myself at a loss of what to term the tableau I am witnessing.”

Because Lestrade took very great pains to keep _anyone_ from knowing.  At least the Great and Powerful Mycroft Holmes didn’t stop in at the local pubs for a pint so stories would _not_ be shared with interested ears.

     “Well, it’s not something I advertise.  My grandfather loved this sort of thing, tiki culture, I guess you’d call it, and I… I thought it was the most amazing thing in the world when I was a lad.  He’d play this music I’d never heard before and make me these wild drinks in even wilder glasses… I suppose I inherited the gene because once I was hooked, I was hooked for life.”

Mycroft took another look around the flat and noted that various items, such as vintage lamps, ashtrays, statues and other knick knacks were sufficiently few and small that they could be easily taken out to create a specific look to the space, but hidden away later so visitors would have no idea of the homeowner’s secret tastes.  How utterly intriguing…  

     “And, I take it, you indulge your genetics when the opportunity presents itself.”

     “Which isn’t very often, what with my schedule.  I wouldn’t be surprised, now, if I got a call that had me in some filthy alley wondering if the mice were drinking my rum while I sorted out some poor bloke who had the misfortune to be dead.”

     “And, is that what resides in your highly unique cocktail glass?”

     “Absolutely!  That is a vintage Suffering Bastard mug and it’s holding one properly-prepared Suffering Bastard drink inside.  They’ve got replica mugs out there, but that one is the real thing, straight from Trader Vic’s back in the day.”

     “I’m afraid I lost the thread of your remarks after the word ‘absolutely.’ “

Lestrade laughed and smoothed his Polynesian-print shirt, stopping when he realized that (a) Mycroft Holmes was in his flat, (b) Mycroft Holmes had never visited his flat in his life, (c) _Mycroft Holmes_ was in his flat and (d) he looked like a tiki freak in front of Mycroft fucking Holmes, which undoubtedly just shot a volcano-sized hole in his ridiculous hopes for filthy goings-on with the aforementioned Mycroft fucking Holmes.  Fuck.

     “Oh, well, it’s all a lot of silly nonsense and I’m sure you’re here for an important reason so…”

Ah, yes.  The reason he’d actually had an excuse… reason… to pay a visit to the Detective Inspector outside of work hours.

     “In truth, I am trying to find Sherlock.  He _knows_ I am trying to find him, unfortunately, therefore unorthodox measures are necessary if I am to see a certain matter concluded satisfactorily and in the required timeframe.”

     “Hiding from you, is he?  I can jot down a few places I know he goes when he doesn’t want to be found.  I’m sure he’s got bolt holes I don’t know about, but I’ve usually had good luck with some of these.  Just a second…”

 Alright, that sounded professional.  Efficient and helpful.  Pay no attention to the hula girl lamp, Mr. Holmes, or the Arthur Lyman on the stereo.  Focus all that laser-sharp intellect, instead, on the fact I actually know where I have a pad of paper and the pen I’m using isn’t an embarrassing, chewed-on thing I scrambled through a kitchen drawer to find.  All my policeman’s professionalism shining like a campfire at midnight.

Not that Mycroft noticed Lestrade’s efforts, as his attention was captivated by the unexpected facet of the DI’s personality.  So exotic, so colorful… so sensual… though none of it was keeping his mind from turning to the fact that the top several buttons of the DI’s enticingly-tactile shirt were undone in the most flagrantly masculine and come-hither manner.

     “This is what I have, for what it’s worth.  Do you… I can give you a hand if it’s really time-sensitive.  Two sets of feet cover more ground than one.”

Something Mycroft had hoped Lestrade would offer, for the situation truly did warrant haste, but, now… now, the thought was fleeing far and fast from his mind.  How could he, in good conscience, interrupt _this_?

     “I greatly appreciate your kind offer, however, I would not wish to impose upon your much-deserved night of rest, Detective Inspector.”

     “It happens more often than not, so don’t worry about it.  Just give me a moment to change into something a little more respectable.”

Mycroft watched with regret as Lestrade disappeared into the bedroom as it was a certainty that no display of virile chest hair would be in evidence with the more ‘respectable’ garments, but someone with experience in Sherlock’s more contentious nature would be a valuable asset in his quest.  It was a shame, though, that the Detective Inspector’s beverage would be left behind.  It was a rather… jaunty… libation.  Surely Gregory would not mind if he took the smallest of sips.

_ Ye gods. _

That could not be right.  Best verify.

_ Archimedes bones! _

If he was not already intoxicated, it was because his blood had already boiled and left nothing to spread the alcohol!

     “Just need my shoes and I’ll be ready.  Checking out the mug?  I’ve got a collection of them, some I got from my grandfather and others I’ve found in second-hand shops.  I have a colleague in the States who finds them now and then and ships them over to me, too.”

The ceramic must be made of… kryptonite… to withstand the potency of this potion!

     “It is quite an eye-catching thing, I do admit.”

     “And that one’s not even that colorful!  That’s actually another reason I like it, though.  Unique, even among the strange and unique, he sort of stands out.  Ready to go?”

Mycroft carefully passed the drink over to Lestrade who, with a very wistful look, poured it down the drain, gave the mug a quick rinse, then smiled and made an ‘after you’ gesture that set Mycroft in motion.

     “Thank you, Detective Inspector.  I do have others set upon this task, but none with the experience or instinct that I, or you, bring to the occasion.”

     “Glad to help!  Might need a quick stop for coffee though, if nothing else, to hide the smell of very fine rum on my breath.”

Which would be a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.  Gregory’s natural scent married with the complexity of a quality spirit was a perfume of the most highly pleasurable proportions.

     “True.  You might be accosted by a connoisseur and mired in a discussion that renders you useless for my purposes.”

Was that a joke?  Oh god, it was.  Mycroft Holmes made a joke and there was twinkle in his eyes!  In those beautiful blue eyes there was definitely twinkle of the twinkliest variety.

     “That would shame me shamefully.”

     “Decidedly.”

     “The coffee is your treat then.”

     “I would be delighted.  I’m afraid I can only offer a plain, paper cup, however, much to my disgrace.”

Joke!  When did Mycroft Holmes start making jokes?  And twinkling?

     “I’ll forgive you.  This time.”

     “You are too kind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a LOT of recipes for a Suffering Bastard, but this one is one of my faves:
> 
> 1 1/2 oz rum  
> 1 oz overproof rum  
> 3/4 oz Orange Curacao liqueur (Grand Marnier can be used for a heavier taste)  
> 1/2 oz orgeat syrup  
> 1 oz fresh lime juice  
> 2 oz fresh orange juice
> 
> Shake all ingredients well and strain into an ice-filled double old-fashioned glass or Tiki mug. Garnish with slices of orange and lime, and serve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who have read [When We Assume](http://archiveofourown.org/works/930615/chapters/1810547) should find the Mycroft-Anthea banter familiar, though this Anthea is a bit more cheeky...

Mr. Holmes was humming.  There wasn’t any indication of the Apocalypse or an alien invasion, so the number of possible reasons for this was naught.  Well, professional reasons, that is…

     “You wanted the Ecuador file, Mr. Holmes?”

     “Yes.  Thank you, Anthea.”

     “Did you… did you have a nice evening last night, sir?”

Did it show?  Was he smiling?  Mustn’t smile!  Anthea was ferociously curious and supernaturally talented at ferreting out information on the personal relationships of both colleagues and adversaries.  He would have to tread lightly…

     “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

LIE!  Mr. Holmes just lied as poorly as a toddler caught with their hand in the sweets dish.  Well, this could not be allowed to stand unaddressed.

     “Nice night in with a good book or… nice night out with good man?”

HAH!  Nearly leapt out of his trousers for the latter.  Hit the target with the very first shot!

     “That is a rather personal, as well as impertinent, question.”

     “Don’t answer it then.  Not that you need to, of course.”

Take the bait, Mr. Fish.  Look at wiggling all seductively for you…

     “I have no idea to what you are referring.”

Said a full 35% faster than normal!  Oh, this was delicious… Mr. Hermit Holmes shaved his beard and put on shoes to brave the world with other people in it!  One special person, too, if she read this right and there was no doubt this was being read anything other than very, very right…

     “I believe you do.”

     “If I did, I would have said so.”

     “No, you would have lied so quickly, your hair would have caught on fire from the friction in your brain.  What’s that… is that smoke I smell?”

Damnable woman!  She had caught the scent and would be utterly hound-like in pursuit of any possible gossip.  The more tawdry the better…

     “Perhaps it is coming in through the ventilation.  Why don’t you take yourself through the building and investigation the situation?  Then have a long lunch as reward for your dedication to the safety of your colleagues.”

     “Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

     “I believe I am.  Aha!  A page of the Ecuador file is missing!”

Mycroft rumpled a page of the file on his desk, put in an ashtray and set it on fire.

     “And I do believe I, also, now smell smoke.  Why don’t you begin your fire-safety inspection while you find another copy of the summary of opinions on the economic impact of loan restructuring for me to peruse.”

     “You’ve already memorized it and you know it.”

     “Prove it.”

     “Just tell me.”

     “I refuse.”

     “Then you _admit_ there’s something you’re refusing to talk about.”

Hell and be damned!

     “Of course not.”

     “It’s too late, you know.  I know, you know I know, and I know you know I know.  Admit defeat.”

     “Never!”

     “Maybe I can help.  You haven’t been out of your cave since Cromwell asked you to tea, so you _need_ help.”

     “That is completely untrue.”

The fact it was, in actuality, _completely_ true would not sway his thinking one bit.

     “You are making the proverbial mountain out of a molehill.  For your information, I spent the evening locating my brother for that small errand I discussed earlier in the day.”

He looked for Sherlock.  That would not make him hum.  Grit his teeth until there was a tensioned whine and explosive cracking, yes.  Hum, no.  But… hum!  Who would make Mycroft Holmes hum?  Someone who would be involved in the Great Sherlock Hunt.  None of their people then.  Teeth grit and soft growl of disapproval was far more likely.  No talent for finding wayward brothers in the whole lot and that had been proved more than once.

A friend?  HA!  Oh, that was a good one.  Mr. Holmes’s friends were worse hermits than was he.  Someone… someone he _wanted_ to be a friend?  No… who hummed over friends?  No one.  And he had to be humming over someone he met while or was involved in looking for Sherlock.  Who was hum-worthy.  Oh.  Oh oh oh oh oh… oh, this was her fondest dream come true…

     “So, tell me… how _was_ the dear Detective Inspector?  Not too put out having to spend his night chasing after Sherlock when he probably spent the _day_ chasing after Sherlock already?”

Oops.  Hope that blown-glass desk sculpture wasn’t too expensive, because it hadn’t fared happily in the battle between it and the startle-flung Ecuador file.  Well, that was _not_ coming out of her weekly wage.

     “I… I have no idea about what you are speaking.”

     “You have _every_ idea and now, so do I, so tell me everything.  Is he as firm as he looks?  He smells nice, too, doesn’t he?”

     “I beg your pardon!”

     “Didn’t get that far?  Oh well, there’s always Date #2.”

     “It was not a date!”

     “So you admit you were with him!”

Paper makes a pretty snowstorm when scooped up and frustratedly tossed in the air like big, heavy confetti.

     “Is this hell?  Have I finally descended into the pit and found you assigned to me as my personal tormentor.”

     “Well, your sins surely justify a tormentor as efficient as me, but that’s not important now.  What _is_ important is you finally gave in to your pining lust for DI Lestrade and I don’t have to pretend anymore that I don’t _see_ the pining lust in your eyes every time you stare at the surveillance tapes that feature him in the leading role.”

Anthea was hereby assigned to a listening post in Siberia.  If she went quietly, she might be allowed to take her accursed cat for companionship.  If not… Fantasia would be dog food. 

     “I simply asked Gregory if he knew Sherlock’s whereabouts and, subsequently, he volunteered to assist with the search.”

And provided the intelligence necessary to find his idiotic brother, along with the mature, commanding, serious presence required to convince the infant to actually grow past the age of three and agree to cooperate with the small task he was being asked to perform.

     “You’re thinking about him right now, aren’t you?  No, don’t answer, because it will just be a pathetic, pathetic lie.”

That memo was not important was it?  Well, it was a hundred times more important now that it was in a hundred tiny, shredded pieces.  Must take greater care when venting vast quantities of PA-inspired rage.

     “So what if I am!  It… there really is no other choice if I reflect upon the events of the evening.”

     “Events is a very plural word, sir.”

     “Shall I affix a gold star to your performance review for grammar?”

     “Talk about the plural.”

     “I decline.”

     “Tell me what put that lovely ‘s’ on the end of event.”

     “Your overheated imagination is positively ghastly.”

     “Except I’m not imaging things, am I?”

Mycroft huffed loudly and took a time-buying moment to straighten his tie.

     “Yes, you are.  Nothing of the salacious sort happened between Detective Inspector Lestrade and myself.”

Drat.  Her boss was telling the _truth_.  However…

     “It’s alright that you might have _hoped_ for a little salaciousness, you know.”

Hope?  Dream about, was more like it.  The intensity and licentiousness of his dreams about Gregory was nothing short of shocking and he was both highly aroused and terribly embarrassed by the effect they had on his body and mind.

     “The Detective Inspector is a busy man with as many calls upon his time as do I.”

That was the most unresponsive response in the history of human speech.  Poor Mr. Holmes… the poorest part was that he was the most courageous, brilliant, decisive man she had ever known and still couldn’t muster the nerve to ask the DI out for a drink.  No, it was even poorer than that… he didn’t think he was good enough for said DI.  Was it time?  She’d been saving this piece of intelligence for a very special occasion but… there wasn’t going to _be_ a more special occasion than this, so the project was greenlight go.

     “That may be, but… he asks about you.”

What?

     “What?”

     “When he visits your brother, he asks about you.”

Gregory… asked about him?

     “And don’t look at me like I was speaking Hittite.  Yes, I realize now that you’re marginally-fluent in that language, but it was the first thing that came to my mind, so please don’t.  Just don’t.”

     “I… that is absurd.  The Detective Inspector has no reason to make inquiries about me, especially to Sherlock.”

     “Which is the point, sir.  He has no specific reason to ask about you, but he does it anyway.”

     “A polite pleasantry.”

     “Why would he waste his breath on polite pleasantries with Sherlock?”

That was actually a good point.  Though, there would be no admission of that particular fact.

     “Mr. Lestrade, however, would not let Sherlock’s juvenility distract him from basic tenets of courtesy.”

     “Did that lie taste as bad as it sounded?”

Yes.

     “This conversation is most tedious.”

     “Ask him out for a drink!  Dinner!  The worse, the absolute worst, that could happen is that he says no and I don’t think you really need to worry about that.”

Do _not_ snort at me when I’m trying to sort out your love life!  Why were geniuses the ones who were so stupid?  This might call for… it did.  Bye bye last piece of supremely juicy intelligence…

Anthea took her mobile out of her jacket pocket, called up a specific video and passed it over to Mycroft to examine.  Which he did.  Six times.  Seven for good measure.

     “No, you’re not seeing things.  Yes, you’re interpreting it right.  When we collected Sherlock from the Detective Inspector’s office after the… bus incident… he gave you a look over while you weren’t watching and, yes, eyes lingered upon your bottom.  There was smile, sir.  For god sakes, even you, stubborn, purposefully-blind you, can’t deny the smile.”

Gregory’s smile.  Even in its most secretive form, it was the most luminous, most breathtaking vision of loveliness in all of heaven and earth.  And no bastardization of geometry could prove that the man’s angle of vision during the smile was directed anywhere but… this certainly shed a new light on matters.

     “My phone, sir?”

Yes, cradling a phone like a newborn was likely not the appropriate behavior to sell an impression that he was dismissive of this new body of evidence.

     “Very well.  What would you have me do?”

     “Have I been speaking in a pitch too high for you to hear?”

     “If you had, my morning would be a far more agreeable thing than it is currently.”

     “Make a move!  I don’t think you have the American nuclear codes in your head because they decided a good repository for them was a man who couldn’t plan a date with someone lusting after his arse!”

     “Good heavens…”

     “Something small, something simple… something that says ‘Look!  I’m making a move and if you make one in return I promise you won’t be executed then tossed in the Thames’ is all you need.”

Small and simple.  Paradoxically, those were both his strengths and weaknesses.  In matters of state, he was the unparalleled master of the subtle and efficient.  In matters of the heart, the few times in his youth when he had ventured into that particular arena, he tended to be neither subtle nor efficient and rather felt the fool when his efforts, unsurprisingly, went awry.  However… he was not a youth anymore.  And there really was no denying the lingering eyes…

     “I… I shall give it some thought.”

Victory!  Tiny, tentative and fragile, but victory nonetheless.

     “I think you’ll be happy you did.  Now, shall I repair your Ecuador file?”

     “No.  The few bits I needed I have already memorized.”

     “Lovely.  And I hope you’re not going to ask me to tidy this mess because I won’t and I’ll see your lunch order is nothing but salad and water if you even try.”

     “Beastly woman.  And, for your information, I was planning on requesting a salad for lunch, in any case.”

     “Yes, I know.  Your salad with grilled chicken and avocadoes and walnuts and delicious dressing that they serve with warm, buttery bread.  Let’s see how happy you are with something pale and disappointing from McDonald’s that may or may not actually be vegetable in nature.”

     “You wouldn’t dare!”

     “Would you like fries with that?”

     “ _Never_ speak American to me.”

     “Enjoy your morning, sir.  I’ll tend to the Transport Minister’s whinging while you neaten the office.  There might be tea in your future if I’m pleased with your efforts.”

From the vast pool of personnel at his disposal, _that_ was what he had for a PA.  Not every man was so lucky, so… time for a bit of straightening…


	3. Chapter 3

No, this was not an invasion of privacy.  Well, yes, it actually was, however, the cause was righteous and that justified far more in this world than his tiny bit of bugging of the Detective Inspector’s flat.  Anyway, there were no bugs in places where privacy was especially desired, such as the bath or bedroom and he only reviewed the most minute snippets of the information to gain a better understanding of time usage to ascertain the most appropriate moment to… make a move.  There, the King of Rationalization has spoken.

Day 1 – GL not returned home until very early in the morning.  Flat door open, flat door close, bedroom door open, bedroom door close, alarm clock sounds three hours later.  My, Gregory could curse quite loudly when he was properly motivated, couldn’t he?

Day 2 – GL returns home for 45 minutes, then leaves again.  Phone call verifies he is at pub with John.  Sherlock is certain they are discussing him because Sherlock is a prima donna and all in the world must revolve around his unkempt head.  Final return home leaves opportunity for a watching of the news.  Time marked as potential ‘normal’ bedtime.

Day 3 – GL returns home an hour after supposed ‘official’ end of his workday.  Musical accompaniment to preparation of dinner same as noted for impromptu visit earlier in week.  Music continues for duration of evening with several trips to kitchen marked where sounds of liquids being poured and stirred were noted, as was cacophony of electric blender.  Place star next to this entry.

Day 4 – GL returns home 50 minutes after supposed ‘official’ end of his workday.  Television turned to news.  Twenty-five minutes into broadcast, called back to work.  Make note that triple-homicide of actor, mistress and wife was reported during broadcast.  GL doesn’t return home until following night.  The poor man had not even the strength to prepare a meal before falling to sleep.  Investigate budget increase for police service to bolster the ranks at earliest opportunity.

Day 6 (see previous entry for Day 5)

Day 7 - GL late returning home, but immediately starts music playing.   Very… energetic music.  Review of… private… dossier confirms so-called ‘punk’ period of Gregory’s life.  Music lasts mercifully short time to be followed by a film.  Sleep at ‘standard’ bedtime.

Day 8 – GL called in to work before dawn and did not return home until 9:14 pm.  Very, very long shower before bed.  Inquiries determined that GL stepped in to consult on a case that was… troubling.  So many years of service, yet his heart was still a tender one…

Day 9 – GL returns home at 7:48 pm.  Music of the mid-late 1960’s noted.  Music continues until Gregory goes to bed.  Little noise heard in flat besides music.  Speculation – time being used for reading as books were observed on sofa table during single visit to flat.  Make note: gather information on reading preferences of Gregory Lestrade.  Make further note: this is, also, not an invasion of privacy.  It is information critical to the objective which, although not fully and wholly formed, was one of paramount importance and that was a nearly biblical certainty.

Day 10 – Phone call and GL swearing begins the day, which is a short one as he returns from work at 11:38 am to commence what must have been a scheduled day off.  Sounds of tidying and time gone from the flat corresponding to the appropriate interval for the completion of standard household errands.  Music begins at 4:05 pm and sounds of cocktail preparation pepper the afternoon/evening, though a sporting event begins in the evening and takes the place of the music.  Bed at slightly later than ‘standard’ time due to length of sports competition.  Note:  investigate social and economic impact of starting sports events earlier so Gregory can get full night’s rest.

__________

Mycroft reviewed the notes he had accumulated from the surveillance recordings and drew a series of conclusions.  The Detective Inspector was an unfailingly dedicated man who gave his all to his job, which, in return, gave him far too little time to sleep, eat or enjoy other aspects of his life.  Even his free days seemed to be more a situation of good fortune, than a fixed part of his schedule.  However, Gregory did not completely neglect himself and used the free time he had in ways that were relaxing and pleasurable, which, somewhat, eased his own concerns.

And it was during this free time that he, himself, would strike.  Thinking about it, though, that _would_ further reduce Gregory’s time for personal rest and relaxation, so a small enlargement of his relaxation window might need to take place, in the spirit of equity.  However, If there was a soul in London who could secure an overworked DI a full evening with no calls upon his time, it was the man sitting in this chair, absentmindedly stroking the photograph of young, spike-haired, Gregory Lestrade in leather trousers and an artistically-torn shirt.   Which was not, at all, disrespectful.  There was a speck of dust, you see, and he simply could not let that stand…

__________

Now, that was the sort of day he liked.  No, that wasn’t entirely true, because a day of ease that ended on time would become a bore if it described every day of his job, but on the rare occasion this happened… glorious.  An unexpected gift from the heavens and Greg Lestrade didn’t spit on gifts because his mother raised him properly.  Plus, spit was a misery to clean out of rugs.

Lestrade kicked off his shoes, stretched as if he was trying to lay his palms on the ceiling and let a smile stretch wide across his face.  Tomorrow was a day off, too.  Hopefully.  That was always a roll of the dice, but he was taking today’s bit of luck as a good omen.  His last free day had become a grueling 34-hour race to find a murder suspect who had escaped on his way to trial, cementing his guilt by killing one of the officers who was escorting him to court.  He’d been given another free day to recover, but slept through the whole thing so it did _not_ count.

Mental check-off sheet: 

> 1. Clean, comfortable clothes ready for wearing – yes.
> 
> 2. New music download to enjoy – yes.
> 
> 3. Foolish purchase of candles that smelled… tropical – yes.
> 
> 4. Alcohol – yes, and for emphasis, _yes_.
> 
> 5. Delivery menu at the ready for lovely food that would do any tiki lounge proud – yes.

The evening was officially ready to begin.  Tomorrow, schedule providing, was a few pints with the lads and lasses on his team for a promotion celebration for one of their own, but tonight was all about things unrelated to work.  Good book, good booze, good food, good music… really, what could be better?

__________

Mycroft took a deep, cleansing breath and ran an eye one last time over his preparations.  Clothing - chosen to shift the focus of his visit immediately from official circumstances to more collegial ones.

_      “And don’t wear one of your suits!” _

_      “My suits are impeccable and, if I may say so, present me in a very flattering light.” _

_      “For negotiating the border of a country, yes.  For signaling you’re looking for a little fun, no.” _

_      “I am not, as you say, ‘looking for a little fun.’  What an utterly tawdry assertion.” _

_      “Look at you already thinking about romance.  Actually, I was referring to a bit of drink and conversation, but you interpret things the way your brain makes you the happiest.” _

_      “And I suppose you have a suggestion?” _

_      “Wear something smart, but comfortable, like what you slip into when you sneak away for a day at the British Library and hope nobody realizes.” _

_      “Something I have never done.” _

_      “Denial isn’t a river in Egypt, you know.” _

Dastardly hen.   However… the wheat-colored casual trousers and green button-down shirt _did_ present the appearance of a man open for a friendly hour or so of conversation.  And then there was the matter of the package he had tucked under his arm.   Which had been another descent into the hell of hen-peckery.

_      “If you’re going to simply appear at his door like Marley’s ghost, you have to, at the very least, have a gift to present.” _

_      “That rather undermines the hoped-for casual bonhomie, does it not?” _

_      “Don’t be logical with me; this is serious.  Since you won’t take my advice and simply phone with an offer for a glass of wine in a nice pub, you can’t take your own advice and be mistaken for a stalker.” _

_      “Well, I never…” _

_      “Don’t worry, you **will** get your chance if you just listen to me.  Let me think… yes.   Just the thing.  Bring him a little something to say thank you for helping you with Sherlock’s last tantrum.  Actually for helping with more of Sherlock’s tantrums than a body should ever be asked to witness.  It’s been a couple of weeks, but you can say you were busy.  There, your cover story is in place.  All you have to do is find something personal, but not outlandishly-expensive to show your appreciation for all he’s done.  And to entice him into showing his appreciation in various steamy and talented ways.” _

_      “You are prohibited from thinking lustful thoughts about the Detective Inspector.” _

_      “Why?  No more room in the universe with all of yours flitting about?” _

At this rate, Anthea was going to find herself on an extended vacation so he could have a modicum of peace and quiet.  The Bahamas was nice this time of year…


	4. Chapter 4

A door.  Yes, it met the pertinent criteria.  It was the correct door, too, having been personally verified by him at a point within recent memory.  And, as he had passed the age of four, he was well-versed in the proper technique for managing said door in a manner to alert the person on the other side of his presence.  Something that should commence shortly before he _was_ identified as a stalker and was required to participate in some rather embarrassing discussions with Gregory’s colleagues.  Yes… here we go.

__ 

A knock?  Figgity fuck… what had he done now to upset Mrs. Greene?  Was his breathing too loud?  Maybe his hair was growing too quickly for modesty’s sake.

     “Yes, Mrs… oh.  Oh, Mr. Holmes.”

Looking like a cock-stiffening million pounds in clothes that almost makes a man not want to drag them off your sexy body and do something about the stiffened cock issue.  Almost.

     “Yes, I… I hope I am not catching you at an inopportune moment?”

     “No!  Not at all!  Um… actually, it’s a good moment, since… well, since it’s just another quiet night at home and I can always do with a visitor.  Come in!”

Lestrade moved out of the way to let Mycroft in and cursed himself for being unable to move more than a few steps from the doorway because he’d caught the slightest whiff of Mycroft’s cologne and it was drawing him like a moth to a flame.

     “I am honored to be allowed access to your lovely abode, given this is one of your particularly _special_ relaxation evenings.”

Affirming the algorithm that he had devised to predict such things and justifying the miniscule amount of influence he had exerted to have the DI home, rested and early, with a full off day waiting on the horizon tomorrow.

     “Just settling in, actually.  Is there something… what can I do for you, sir?”

Stop calling me sir, for one thing.  Let us start with that.

     “Mycroft, please.  This is, for lack of a better term, a social call and I believe we can dispense with the formalities, if that is agreeable to you.”

Agreeable?  Something he’d hoped for nearly as long as he’d known the elegant man smiling at him right now?

     “I think that’s a great idea.  Hello, Mycroft.  Welcome to my humble home.”

     “Thank you, Gregory. I am very pleased to be here.  And… if it is not too presumptuous of me, I would ask that you accept this for your assistance in locating Sherlock when last we met.  It is overdue, really, for you have ever been a stalwart ally to me in the unending war with my brother and I found myself wanting you to know that I have greatly appreciated your support and efforts in that cause.  It is a rare thing for me to have such an ally and I wish to make clear that our association has never been taken for granted.”

And, despite his unrelenting mental reminders, the ardent rambling flows free and easy through the streambed of inanity.  At least Gregory was not showing him the door and bolting it securely in his wake.

     “I… thank you, si… Mycroft.  I appreciate that and… well, anytime you need me, don’t hesitate to call.  Or stop in!  That works, too.”

Babbling.  What was he – twelve?  Mycroft makes an eloquent, heartfelt speech and gets babbled at for his troubles.  Whatever was in that bag was probably headed for a collision with his thick skull at any moment.

     “Excellent.  Then… perhaps we might celebrate our understanding with a spot of this.”

Mycroft handed over the bag, which Lestrade was now realizing held a bottle.  And bottles only meant good things.

     “Mount Gay 1703!  This is… this is good stuff!”

Not as good as Mycroft would have liked to have purchased but the wounds from Anthea’s beak as he tried to select a more expensive rum still pained him miserably.

     “I am happy you approve.  I thought it fitting given…”

Mycroft waved his arm to indicate the pervading ambience, which, as before, was tantalizing his senses in a very unfamiliar, yet most enthralling, manner.

     “This is amazing and, really, very nice of you.  Can you…”

Should he?  Mycroft had taken the time out of his busy schedule to pop in for a visit, so… that must mean he _wanted_ to take time out of his busy schedule to pop in for a visit, because the Right and Holy King of the Universe didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.  And if he _wanted_ to pop in, as had already been established in a blinding application of romantically-desperate logic, then, maybe, he might enjoy having that visit prolong itself a little.  After all… clothes.  You don’t wear clothes like that unless you’re hoping for a bit a chat or you want a good shag once those clothes were… ok, that wasn’t proper, so stopping immediately.  Or as immediately as possible given that his brain was now besieged by lustful thoughts that were being a bugger to beat back behind the gates.  Mycroft looked _wonderful_ in a simple button down…

     “…I mean… would you like to stay for a bit and have a sip?  I know you’re a busy man, but a body needs to slow down once in awhile and enjoy the pleasant things in life, right?”

Please don’t think I’m impertinent, please don’t think I’m presumptuous, please don’t think I’ve been fantasizing about you in ways that would make porn star blush, please don’t think I’ve actually said Greg Lestrade-Holmes in my head just to see how it sounded… please just say yes…

__

Gregory asked him to stay!  Not reluctantly, as one might ask the dreary uncle who arrived on your doorstep just before tea, but with a heartening degree of eagerness.  And the smile… it was there.  Shining like a beacon through the lonely fog of his life.  Which was _exactly_ what a dreary uncle would think when the rather comely pensioner on the park bench smiled at him and most of the presented teeth were original to the owner.  Well, this dreary uncle was leaving the park bench behind for sunnier climes…

__

     “I… I would be delighted.”

Yes!

     “Great!  Why don’t you have a seat on… the sofa?... and I’ll pour a little for us.”

Sofa.  If that didn’t smell of teenage hormones and sad date moves, what did?  But, since it was that or the chair that had a broken spring that dropped you four inches into the cushion when you sat on it, there wasn’t really much option.  Now… class or… ambience.  Mycroft was the personification of class but… well, he actually seemed to appreciate the little color and flair of his personal tiki lounge so… it’s not like Mycroft had the Royal High Executioner’s mobile number in his pocket, now, did he?  Shite, yes, he probably did, but go big or go home, which still worked even if a body was already home.  He was so dead.

Lestrade poured out a small… not so small… rather hefty… measure of rum into two vintage, looked-like-a-super-spy-would-sip-out-of-them highball glasses, saving his more tiki-ish ware for a hastily-prayed-for second round, and hoped his gulp wasn’t audible as he handed one to Mycroft and took a seat at the other end of the sofa.

     “Dear me, these are quite stylish.  Rather, I believe the word is, retro.”

     “Ha!  Yeah, they are.  Makes you feel like you’ve got a tuxedo on and you’re watching the baccarat game in Monte Carlo, don’t they?”

While he, of course, was in old, linen trousers, a bamboo-print shirt and… oh, christ.  Not a shoe on either foot.  Might as well get a coconut bra and a straw hat!

     “I can, if I may be so bold, attest that is certainly not the case.  That particular experience is not as joyful as one might expect.  Your drink will be weak, your clothing uncomfortable, your company vulgar… completely the opposite of what I find here.”

Was that too garrulous?  Was it pithy and erudite?  How could he script political speeches and negotiation dialogue over breakfast and fail so… failingly… with a few complimentary words to the incomparable Gregory!  Drink.  Drink and forget… oh.  No, change of plan.   Do _not_ forget, for this spirit was excellent and his… the… Detective Inspector was a vision with the gleam of pleasure in his eyes.

     “That’s… that’s very nice of you to say.  And this rum is fantastic!  It’s the perfect thing to sip so you can savor every nuance.  And there are a lot of them in here!  I never learned all the right terms for wine and spirits, but my tongue knows the difference between the great, the good and the crap and this is right at the top of the greats.”

     “Gregory, I had no idea your tongue was so talented.”

If there was a contest for which man’s skin suddenly got the hottest, Mycroft may have won by a nose, but it was a close thing.

     “And… that is _also_ very nice of you to say.  A man likes to have his attributes properly regarded.”

Now, Mycroft’s nose was definitely beating out its opponent and he wondered if he reshuffled on the sofa to settle a few tingles that were starting to… tingle… how quickly the Detective Inspector would notice.  _Detective_ Inspector… oh yes, better not bother.

     “I find it prudent to properly acknowledge strengths when I encounter them.  And your palate for fine liquor surely sets high upon the list.  I admit I rarely drink rum, but this is delectable.”

     “Delectable… that’s the right word for it.  Rum’s got a life to it, a sweetness and personality, that other drinks lack.  Like its whole history is bottled up inside.  Sun, sugarcane, tropical breezes… no matter how dry and crisp or how dark and rich it tells a story that never fails to make me happy.”

Well, was that supposed to be clever?  Mycroft probably socialized with those fancy connoisseurs who knew all the right language and the history and techniques and he sounded like a travel brochure for Jamaica.  Score one for the eternally-lonely!

__

What a masterful description.  Without all the needless and tedious clutter of jargon and minutiae that dilute the essence of the message.  Gregory was such a sensual man.  Tactile, visual, aural… he titillated the mind and the senses in the most enjoyable and evocative ways.  And wasn’t this rum cozily warming…

__

     “I believe you have stated perfectly the appeal…”

He had?  Eternally-lonely suffers a penalty and loses its point!

     “… and I agree wholeheartedly.  In truth, I am agog, Gregory, at the experience you have crafted for yourself.  The environment is so exotically enticing and from only a few well-placed touches.”

     “Thanks for that!  I admit I go a bit overboard sometimes, but some low-lighting, the right music, a trinket here and there… it’s not a full tiki room, but the bones are there and I’m happy with that.”

     “Oh, and what would you require for your… tiki room, did you call it?”

     “Oh, a bar for one thing.  A nice little bar nestled against the wall, maybe with a bamboo or thatched front and some great masks for decoration.  And more masks and pictures on the wall.  Get a little color in the lighting, put up some shelves for my mugs to be displayed, better music system, get the flooring done … lots of things.  One day, maybe, when my billionaire uncle dies and leaves me his fortune, I’ll get a bigger place so I can have a room set up just the way I like it.  Good music, good drink, good… that reminds me!  I was about to make a call for food when you knocked.  I’d be very happy if you’d have a little dinner with me.  Nothing fancy, but perfect for any respectable tiki lounge.  How does that sound?”

Please don’t reach for that executioner’s mobile number because I haven’t actually asked anyone out for dinner in a humiliatingly-long time, so that train crash of a invitation to the most elegant and sophisticated man in London deserves a little forgiveness, don’t you think?  At least you don’t have your umbrella with you, which I just know has a sword inside, so dirtying your clothes when personally performing the beheading isn’t a concern.

__

An invitation to dinner?  Praise Copernicus!  Anthea must never hear of this. Her level of insufferableness would positively skyrocket and that would rival the cataclysm that annihilated the dinosaurs.

__

     “I would be delighted!  Truly, Gregory, I hope this is not an imposition…”

     “No!  No imposition at all.  In fact… it’s nice to actually show all of this off to someone who seems to appreciate it.  It’s not something I have the chance, or the urge, to share very often so… yeah, this is nice and a little food is just going to make it nicer.  Any preferences?  It’ll be Chinese, but that covers a lot of area…”

     “I shall leave it to your capable hands.”

     “Capable hands and a talented tongue.  I have to say my ego is inflating nicely, Mycroft.  You should stop in more often.”

Lestrade was halfway to vertical when he realized (a) just how suggestive that sounded and (2) he’d just asked Mycroft back for another… something.  What was wrong with him!  His list-making was even mocking him!  Mycroft looked like he’d been turned to stone!

__

This was the most miraculous day of his life.  His personal journal would find this page written with the finest pen he owned and illuminated with all appropriate illustrations.

__

     “Uh… I’ll make that phone call now.”

Fool!  Witness the trepidation!  Cease your blissful wallowing and make your appreciation known!

     “I shall be glad for it.  If… if I am to visit again to top off the coffers of your ego, I should know what entrée might follow my appetizer of accolades.”

Oh heaven’s gate, where was the bolt of Odin to save poor Gregory from more of his prattling tongue?

__

He accepted.  Sam Spade’s sacred fedora… Mycroft just accepted another… thing.  When had he fallen down the rabbit hole and how much did it cost to live here?

__

     “Then I’ll make certain that we’ve got a feast in store for us.  Give you a good idea of what relaxation night in Hale Lestrade is all about.”

Hale… ah.  House.  The House of the Rising Sun if the Detective Inspector’s smile is to factor into the equation.  His acceptance had been accepted!  Just _what_ had been offered and accepted was a bit nebulous at this point, but the point was beside the point!  Oh, this was a day of days… and this was a rum of rums… Gregory wouldn’t mind if he had another pre-dinner cocktail, would he?  No, in fact, the waggled bottle signaled that his Gregory’s mental telepathy was properly functioning and the mind link had now commenced.  Thank you for the generous refill, Detective Inspector.  It shall surely not go to waste…


	5. Chapter 5

     “Truly, Gregory, a feast of this sumptuousness is beyond compare.  I feel transported to another time and place.”

     “Brilliant, isn’t it!  Not a health-conscious bit in the lot, either.  It’s getting harder and harder to find a place that still does things the old-fashioned way with lots of flavor and all the health-destroying things that the flavor is made of.  Needless to say, I don’t eat this way that often, but…”

     “As a treat, it is more than justified.”

     “Exactly!”

The real treat, though, was watching Mycroft Holmes lick glazed spareribs sauce off of his fingers, then give his lips a lick for good measure.  That was a treat fit for a king.  A treat you wrote poems about.  Oh yes, and please do press that juicy piece of pineapple right between those just-licked lips, so I’ve got something to dream about tonight.

     “I am thoroughly in awe of how nicely your choices complement the atmosphere you have created.  Your choreography of the various elements is most impressive.”

Lestrade cocked his head slightly and let a grin peek as he have his own lips a quick lick, purely to check for any wayward speck of food that might be hiding from his attentions, of course.

     “You really do like all of this, don’t you?”

     “Strangely, I find that I do.  There is a… actually, sumptuousness is, again, the appropriate term… that I find highly appealing.  Perhaps it is the slight nod towards decadence, which I eschew in my daily routine.  Perhaps it is the vitality, given, even, the languid nature of the indulgences.  I, in full honesty, cannot quantify the experience, but is very much to my liking.”

As this succulent prawn will now prove as it dances its way into my mouth.  Oh my… perhaps that third measure of rum was not the wisest of decisions.  Well, that was a fortuitous side-benefit of a filling repast.  It gave alcohol a sound talking-to before it scurried off to work its mischief.

__

Ok, this was unbelievable, but Mycroft wasn’t put off by the more… uncharacteristic… side of his personality.  In fact, he liked it.  Well, not him, but the side.  Did that make sense?  Probably not, but he’d fathom it out later.  The farthest you could get from million-pound suits, dark sedans and that club of his and Mycroft’s eyes were shining.  Of course, that could be from the rum, but he’d be brave and say it was because Mycroft was enjoying himself and that was worth celebrating on its own.  See… he could make prawn dance, too.  And that egg roll looked just about ready to waltz…

__

     “Food that good should be illegal.”

     “Perish the thought, Gregory.  That would require you to arrest the delivery driver and that is a poor reward for his time and effort.”

     “That’s true.   The bastard probably wouldn’t let me keep my order once I had the cuffs on him, either.”

     “Thereby adding a waste of money to the argument.”

     “Alright… food that good should be _spectacularly_ legal.”

     “A much sounder notion.  And, I assure you, that should a piece of legislation be bandied about to the contrary, I will see it immediately and thoroughly squashed.”

     “That’s good of you, Mycroft.”

     “I occasionally have my uses.”

     “And one of them is being a great dinner partner.  Really, I’m genuinely having a brilliant time and…”

Go big or go home was still in play.  No less nonsensical, but still in play.

     “… I meant what I said.  Sort of said, anyway.  You’re welcome back anytime.  I don’t have any problem doing this again and… well, there you have it.  Door’s open, so feel free to use it.”

And back to teenage hormones and sad date moves.  Sputter out your desperation like a car with fuel problems, why don’t you… was it at all possible to demonstrate any poise and maturity tonight?  Any chance at all?  Oh… Mycroft was smiling.  Please let that be because he’s happy and not because the food made him gassy.

     “That is a very kind offer, Gregory, and… if you are sincere in that, I shall surely take advantage of it.  It is rare that I find myself with such pleasant company and savoring my time, instead of counting the minutes until I may make a polite farewell.  I would very much like to see this experience repeated… as long as it suits you, of course.”

Good lord, man!  Show some spine!  Gregory is a man of valor and has no time for your simpering!

     “Ok… ok, then.  Great!  I’m definitely suited, so whenever you want… yeah.”

AAAARRRGGGHHH!!!  Blither blahther blother blah.  Say something like an adult you stupid copper!  Mycroft just agreed to see you again and he is _not_ a pederast!  Not that it’s pederasty to have drinks and food with another person, regardless of age, but there was far too many impure thoughts in his brain to make this anything but adults only.

__

What was that?  The sound of an angelic host singing the Hallelujah Chorus?  If not, it damned well should be!  The simpering was forgiven and they would recommence their social congress at the next possible opportunity!  If he could but keep his Dickensian prose to the barest minimum, he might actually provide Gregory with sufficiently collegial companionship to merit a continued association and copious assignations!  Must affect some research on non-pedantic dialect at the earliest possible opportunity.  Truly the time would be immediately but studying my mobile like a sacred text would likely break the mood.

__

     “In that case, I shall consider the matter settled and take it upon myself to provide the feast at our next encounter.”

     “You don’t have to do that, Mycroft.  I like taking care of you.  MY GUESTS!  I like… I like taking care of my guests.”

Shitfuckpissbollockskickmeintheheadaaarrrrggghhhhh!!!!!!

__

That was a Freudian slip.  Even if it wasn’t, that is what I shall command it be for the King of Rationalization wields vast and varied powers to benefit himself.

__

     “And I would never deny you the pleasure of satisfying your… hostly urges, Gregory…”

Thank you, Detective Inspector, for that slight look of pleased surprise since I have no baseline for the proper application of salacious innuendo and am, as they say, making this up as I go.

     “… but would instead propose an exchange of duties.  I shall provide the meal and you shall provide the alcohol.”

     “Oh… _Oh_ … is Mycroft Holmes hoping for something tasty and highly flammable in his own tiki mug?”

     “That might have factored into my thinking.  I am _highly_ intrigued by the formulation of a beverage sufficiently exotic to deserve housing in a vessel such as I witnessed during our least meeting.”

     “Oh, then you’re in for a treat.  I will _happily_ take alcohol duty and make you some of my house specialties.  This is going to be great!”

Mycroft’s mind lit up with joy seeing the wide and genuinely excited grin on Lestrade’s face and he felt himself responding in kind.  This was unprecedented!  He had not enjoyed an evening to this degree in…his elephantine memory could not recall.  That, in truth, would have been sufficient to call this evening a wild success, but to know his enjoyment was a shared one vaulted the situation to heights he could not have predicted, but treasured, nonetheless.

     “I concur.  Now, I believe we have some ground to cover before we may claim victory over our repast.”

     “You’re right!  Sitting there mocking us… we take as many of them out now as we can tonight and the rest… well, let’s say starting the day with a little food/mouth combat gets my blood running good and fast.”

     “Yes, I quite agree.  A robust English breakfast is, of course, a thing to respect, but the cold remains of one’s dinner opponent?  Such is a thing to _savor_.”

Mycroft Holmes eating cold Chinese from a carton while still mussed from a good night’s shag… sleep… was now Lestrade’s most prized mental image.  Wasn’t it a lucky thing his mental telly was full high-definition and had no problem playing the same tape over and over on a loop while it’s owner occupied himself in rather filthy, private ways?

     “I think that we’ve got more than enough here to make all of that happen.  You _are_ going home with your fair share, too, Mycroft, so no now-now’ing me or anything like that.”

     “Heavens no!  I assure you my arms shall be laden with the spoils of war and no power on Earth shall wrest them from my grasp.”

     “That’s what I like… man with a proper sense of priority.  Protect the food from all those wresters and let that world peace and such take care of itself.”

     “Yes, pesky thing, that world peace.  I for one am quite content for the conflict for it keeps the Americans too busy to meddle significantly in our own affairs.”

     “Then, here’s to a little worldwide rabblerousing!”

     “Alas, we have nothing with which to make a toast.”

     “Oh, we have something.”

     “Shall I pour?”

     “I think you shall.”

__________

The amount of um’s and well’s as the hour turned late would have embarrassed each man if the um’ing and well’ing coming from their counterpart wasn’t equally pathetic and awkward.  Finally, realizing he didn’t actually _live_ in the flat he was so contentedly visiting and he actually had a driver waiting about whom he’d completely forgotten, Mycroft decided he had to be the stronger of the two and, within the next several years, finally made it to his feet and, a millennium later found himself at the door with a few takeaway cartons in his hand and Lestrade valiantly trying to summon the will to turn the knob to let the oldest Holmes brother out of their cozy cocoon.

     “This has been grand, Mycroft.  I’m glad you stopped by tonight.”

     “As am I.  Truly I can say I had a delightful time and am looking forward to doing it again soon.”

     “I could… well, I suppose neither of us really knows very far in advance what our schedules are going to look like, but I could call you when a night looks good?  Or you could call _me_ , if that’s easier.  And no rush!  Don’t want you to think there’s a rush.”

Or that I’m desperate or really don’t want you to leave or am trying to remember just what those etiquette books say about kissing on the first… something… because that sounds very good right now but I’m still a bit worried about the executioner and really do need my head for work in the morning.

__

Anticipation!  Gregory was anxiously anticipating their next meeting!  This was incalculably exhilarating!  Would it be inappropriate to demonstrate his reciprocity of feeling by sweeping the Detective Inspector into his arms and taking his lips in the sultry, passionate kiss that had featured frequently and prominently in his daydreams?  Yes, it likely would.  Damnable English manners… for what good were they if one could not express one’s ardor when the mood struck!

__

     “Let us say that when an opportune time arises, either of us shall make the notification and, if the other is free, then we shall have the time for our next meeting.”

     “That sounds good.  Flexible.  I like flexible.  Flexible’s good.”

And we’re back to suggestive!  Mycroft was going to think he was some sort of pervert at this rate!  But, Mycroft was twinkling again, so the axeman’s blade was most likely dodged.  Tricky thing dating the King of the World.  Not that they were dating, of course.   A little rum and a lot of Chinese did _not_ mean they were dating.  Even though, if they _were_ dating, that was _exactly_ the sort of thing he’d suggest for a date.  Or not.  There were other possibilities, of course…

     “Something about which I heartily concur.”

Long walk, night at the cinema, curled up on the sofa with good books, stroll through an art gallery or museum… Mycroft would be amazing to date…

     “Gregory?”

Daydreaming!  Now, Mycroft thought he was feeble-witted!

     “Sorry, just thinking ahead, seeing what my schedule currently looks like.”

Have to salvage this or ‘amazing to date’ would become ‘would have been amazing to date’ and that was not allowable!

     “I guess I’m just a little anxious.  I… really did enjoy tonight and that doesn’t happen often.”

What an achingly tender confession… if he did not leave the handsome and virile Detective Inspector now, there might be manly misting in his eyes and that was not allowable!  Mycroft Holmes did _not_ exhibit manly misting unless the cause was incalculably extreme.  Of course, if Gregory continued to smile shyly at him, extreme was going to very much be the pertinent term, at least for the impact on his libido.

     “A sentiment I share completely.  Goodnight, Gregory.  I shall see you soon.”

No, there was no accidental touch of the Detective Inspector’s hand as he began to exit their small section of paradise.  That was simply a figment of his overwrought imagination.

     “Goodnight to you, Mycroft.  Take care of yourself.”

And I’ll take care of this hand that brushed yours and now feels like it wants to lift up so I can give it a kiss, which would put me right back in the feeble-minded class if you were to see me doing it.

Since neither man had X-ray vision, neither could see their companion lean back against the finally-closed door of the flat and let a large and smitten smile cross their lips.  What a night!  What an unexpected, surprising, phenomenal night!  And there was another on the horizon.  Now, they just had to make it to that horizon without doing something clingy and needy like texting and phoning and sending flowers and showing up at their counterpart’s work naked except for a long coat and shoes.  That last bit would really be over the top.  But, after their second date…

__________

Mycroft walked to the waiting car as sedately and with as much dignity as he could, given it had been quite a number of hours since he had arrived at Lestrade’s flat and he had told the driver that he did not expect to be terribly long.  Apparently, though, the man was prepared for his dishonesty and had brought a book to read.

     “Good evening, sir.”

     “Good evening, Charles.”

     “Will you be going home now, sir?”

     “Yes, thank you.”

Mycroft was quite proud that he wobbled only slightly as he got into the car and waited until the door was closed to pat his takeaway containers on their little paper heads for being good sports and sacrificing themselves for tomorrow’s breakfast.

     “Whenever you are ready, Charles.”

<………………….>

     “Charles?  May I ask why we are still here?”

     “Sorry, sir.  Just one moment, sir.”

Mycroft peered over the seat to find his driver merrily texting away.

     “She set you to spy on me, didn’t she?”

     “I am completely unaware about whom you are speaking, sir.  And, yes.”

Damnable woman!  Was nothing sacrosanct!

     “When you have completed your report like a good little lackey, might we begin for home?”

     “Of course, sir.  I have been promised biscuits, sir, so you understand the urgency.”

     “Biscuits?  Those special white chocolate chunk macadamia nut biscuits that are dipped in white chocolate and sprinkled with crushed macadamia nuts for an extra measure of richness and texture?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “From the bakery she refuses to name even upon threat of sacking?”

     “The very same, sir.”

     “Oh.”

     “I _am_ a slave to my passions, sir.”

     “Yes, well… aren’t we all.”


	6. Chapter 6

     “You are smiling.”

     “That’s why you’re a detective, Sherlock.  Always making those little observations of yours.”

     “Here is another, Lestrade.  You are not amusing.”

     “Oooh… broke your streak.  I _am_ amusing, so that’s a point off the score for you.”

     “And you are nauseatingly juvenile.”

     “What?  What’d you say?  Can’t hear anything what with the Legos I stuffed in my ears.”

Lestrade grinned and turned back to the body that was supposedly the star of the morning’s show, knowing that his further lack of response was winding Sherlock up tighter than a watch spring.  It was worth being called in on his day off just to see the Prince of Darkness dance like spit on a hot skillet.

     “I see.  You are hiding something.”

     “What?  Here, give that Lego Batman a tug and see if you can pull it out of my ear canal.”

     “Hiding something _very_ important.”

     “Lego Batman is _very_ important, so well done you.”

     “What are you hiding?”

     “His initials are LB.”

     “Stop talking about Legos!”

     “No wonder the other kids don’t like to play with you.”

Sherlock growled and stalked forward to stand toe to toe with Lestrade and stare directly into his eyes from a distance equal to the thickness of a matchstick.

     “You _are_ hiding something, Lestrade.”

     “Lots of things, actually.  I’m an international man of mystery.”

Sherlock snarled in frustration because none of the details he was noticing made any form of recognizable picture.  Well, save one, but it was so utterly ludicrous... however, having eliminated the impossible…

     “Might you, Detective Inspector, have had a romantic evening?”

     “In my lifetime?  Yeah, one or two.”

     “Tell me!”

     “Ok, well, I remember the first time I took my ex-wife out for a nice dinner and…”

     “No!  You know well what I mean and your disingenuousness is disgraceful.”

The amount of fun one could have with the Holmes brothers was staggeringly high.  Of course, the sort of fun he had and wanted to have with the _older_ brother was in a class by itself.

     “Save your  £ 20 words for later in the morning when I’ve had a bit more coffee, if you’d be so kind.”

Sherlock actually stamped his foot in frustration and that was Lestrade’s cue to pat him tenderly on the cheek and turn back to their raison d’être, the corpse.

     “So, let’s give you a chance to serve humanity, shall we?  What can you tell me about our friend here?”

Sherlock gnashed his teeth, but knew that he was going to get little satisfaction from the DI who was being intentionally insufferable like the blackhearted villain that he was.

     “Very well, but be assured this is not worth my time.”

     “You’re a good boy, Sherlock.  Sure you don’t want to play with my Legos?”

     “I will choke you with your ridiculous blocks if you continue down that path.”

     “Ok then, more for me…”

__________

     “You’re smiling.”

Oh good. His PA wanted to chat.

     “Is that really cause for comment, Anthea?”

     “Given that’s as rare as your brother sending you a Christmas card, I’d say yes.”

     “Well then, it is a lucky day for you, isn’t it?”

     “I’ve been very patient, sir.”

     “Your talent for non-sequiturs is positively admirable.”

     “Are you going to tell me about your date or not?”

     “Since the option is provided, I shall choose ‘not.’ “

     “Then it _was_ a date!”

     “I gave no confession.  The choice of terms was entirely yours.”

     “Which you did not quibble.  Quibbling semantics is your favorite hobby so you are well and truly caught, sir, in your pitiful attempt at deception.”

     “Good heavens.  Your hysteria is notably off-putting.”

     “Your _lying_ is notably embarrassing.”

Mycroft huffed softly and focused his whole attention at the papers in front of him.

     “Don’t huff at me, sir.  Just tell me about your date with the Detective Inspector, so we can start planning your next one.”

Well, yes, there was that…

     “Ah ha… I can see you thinking.”

     “Since that is my natural condition, it must be a very familiar experience.”

     “No, that’s not true.  When you’re thinking about DI Lestrade, it’s a completely different look than when you’re thinking about a hostage negotiation or planning a hiccough in the world stock markets.”

Damn his involuntary responses to Gregory’s masculine beauty!  Apparently, the only way out of this maelstrom of snoopery was directly through the center.

     “Very well.  I shall deign to discuss this for the sole reason that I have a full agenda and taking undue time away from that would be exceedingly unprofessional.”

     “So we’ll take due time away, instead.  So, tell me all about it.  How’d he like his gift?  He’s a fantastic kisser, isn’t he?  And a boxer man, I wager.  Why am I doing all the talking?  Leap in here whenever you’d like and brag a bit about your Greg.”

His Gregory.   Meant not with a reprehensibly-possessive tone, but one that spoke of unifying two individuals into a single concept so that each was ‘his’ of the other.

     “You really do have a lovely smile when your arse unclenches enough to let it show, sir.”

     “Thank you for your critique.”

     “So… leaping in anytime…”

     “Fine.  We enjoyed a meal together in his home and several pleasurable hours of conversation.”

     “That’s a start!  That’s a proper, solid start.  So, about the boxers…”

     “There was no removal of clothing!”

     “Oh.  Good!  That’s good.  It means you’re moving slowly and that says you’re taking this seriously.  Looking long term.  I approve.”

     “I am giddy with glee.”

     “You should be.  If I thought you were making a mess of this we would be having words.”

     “I believe _words_ are what we are having right now.   A plethora of them, in fact.”

     “Those words wouldn’t earn you a few of those hazelnut truffles you like with your lunch.”

     “And _these_ words will?”

     “Most assuredly.”

     “I see.  Very well… Gregory greatly enjoyed the rum with which I gifted him and we shared a number of glasses during the evening.”

     “Good… this is good…”

     “He, then, asked if I would join him for dinner and ordered for us a lovely repast.  We conversed the entire evening, savored a delicious, yet informal, meal, sipped quality spirits and were entertained by a rather invigorating selection of musical choices.  I bid him goodnight and returned home.”

     “No.”

     “Pardon?”

     “You’re leaving something out.”

     “I assure you that the licentious details your lecherous mind is concocting did not occur.”

     “I wasn’t talking about that, though when they _do_ occur I want to hear all about it and don’t think for a moment you’ll be able to hide any of it from me.  You’ll suffer if you even try, so do yourself a favor – don’t try.  But, you _are_ holding something back, so make life easier on yourself, sir, and tell me.  Truffles are at stake, don’t forget that.”

Which melted in his mouth like a river of the purest, smoothest chocolate ever created by human hands.   The situation was serious.

     “I am holding nothing back, though I, perhaps, failed to mention that Gregory and I have agreed to see one another again when our schedules permit it.”

     “YES!”

Anthea’s spirited victory dance gave Mycroft time to hide his new smile, the one that erupted when he thought of a second evening with the dear Detective Inspector.  Even if they did nothing more than for their first meeting, it would be a wonderful night… a truly wonderful, special night.  Now, he just had to endure the interminable wait until that night arrived.  Of course, there really was no reason he couldn’t shorten that wait and…

     “No.”

     “Pardon?”

     “No, you can’t tell the PM to sod off and cancel tonight’s strategy session so you can sneak away for a cuddle with Mr. Lestrade.”

     “I would do no such thing.”

Because cuddling had not been formally added to the approved list of affectionate gestures.

     “You _would_ since you have complained more than once that talking to the PM is like talking to a cat.  They ignore you and put their bottoms in your face for good measure.”

Which put sneaking away tonight firmly back on the top of his list of exceptional ideas for the day.   But… the laser eyes were certainly set for kill, were they not?  That could postpone his next assignation with Gregory for an upsettingly-long time.

     “I was being hyperbolic.”

     “No, you were being honest and I can’t disagree, but you don’t want Greg to think you’re clingy, do you?”

No, that was _not_ the desired impression to make.

     “I am certainly not, as you say, clingy.”

     “You’d be clinging to Mr. Lestrade’s warm, firm form right now if I hadn’t canceled the car you’d ordered to make good your escape after you found out he’d gotten called out on a case.”

     “Preposterous.  I had absolutely no intention of bothering Gregory while he was conducting an investigation.”

Though, if the vehicle in which he was riding happened, purely by coincidence, to pass the location of the murder scene to which Gregory had been assigned… well, that was the will of the Fates and, in no manner, his doing.

     “Lying is going to give you wrinkles, sir.  Besides, Mr. Lestrade phoned your brother.”

     “Ah.”

Perhaps Anthea, completely by accident, of course, had actually done him a service.

     “I have a strong suspicion you haven’t told Sherlock about your DI infatuation.”

That _might_ bring about the End of Days.

     “I am not suffering an infatuation.”

     “So, that’s a yes, and you’re right.  You’re besotted, not infatuated.  Completely different thing.”

     “Thank you for the vocabulary lesson.”

     “You’re welcome.  It _is_ a good thing, sir.  If I thought this was a bad choice for you, that it would end poorly, I _would_ be honest and tell you.”

Intolerable woman.   Being forthright and concerned was utterly unsporting.  But… it _was_ a welcome thing to have some reassurance that his own impressions were not fatally compromised by his rather… besotted… biases.

     “I should hope so.  I am quite certain the job market for sacked PA’s whose letter of reference begins with the sentence ‘If you hope to add to your staff an individual who shall leave your life in tatters, you would be wise to give this applicant your fullest attention.’ is not a robust one.“

Anthea narrowed her eyes perilously close to a Holmes glare and Mycroft sat stock still as she walked over to her valise and extracted something to place on his desk.

     “One.  You may have one now.  Continue your antics and you might see another two on your lunch tray.”

One daintily-wrapped truffle sat on Mycroft’s desk beaming brightly at him and he nodded an affected, off-hand agreement as the two got back to work on what was the actual agenda of their day.  Of course, Anthea set aside her professional mind for one moment to send up a prayer to the god of overworked PA’s that the Detective Inspector called her boss today, even for a quick hello.  Clinginess, be damned.  If there was one thing Mr. Holmes needed it was to feel desired and appreciated after his first move and if she needed to remind a certain DI of that fact, a reminder would be forthcoming.  And it would not be one that would be easily ignored…

__________

     “Don’t tell me you broke it, again.”

Lestrade scowled at Anderson, who had scowled at him first, so it was purely self-defense.

     “No, I did not.”

Just because a man stroked his mobile, it didn’t mean he was trying to summon forth the little demon who lived inside for a quick chat about why he’d decided to fuck off on holiday and leave his mobile a lifeless paperweight.  At least, not always.

     “They why are you using your demon-summoning ritual?”

     “I’m not! Just… I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

     “I really don’t want to know what you’re thinking about that has you stroking your mobile like that, do I?”

     “It’s not about anything sexy; don’t strain your brain over it.”

     “So it’s about something sexy.”

     “Yeah.”

     “Cars can be sexy.  Clothes can be sexy.  It’s not your mobile is it?  I mean… it’s shiny.  It’s got shiny going for it, but it lacks that certain je ne sais quoi that the really sexy mobiles have.  You can do better, Greg.  Don’t settle… just don’t settle when the _right_ mobile is out there waiting for you.”

     “Funny.  Let’s see how many jokes you’re making when you’re called out for every 3:00 am corpse that London offers up for the next month.”

     “See?  Already your mobile affair has you in a foul mood.  It’s not the one to make you happy.  You need to let go.”

     “Are you finished?”

     “No.  I can spin this out for our entire lunch break without much problem.”

     “Half my chips.  I will give you half my chips to munch quietly, so I can enjoy a relaxing lunch.”

     “One, I’ll have them anyway, because you’ll be too busy sexing up your mobile to notice when I steal them.  Two, I just realized that ‘something’ could actually describe a person, if you were trying to hide the fact that you were picturing something else under those fat fingers of yours while you were making your mobile think it’d be getting a ring and proposal soon.  So, who is it?”

     “Nobody.”

     “That’s a callous thing to call your lover.”

     “He’s not my lover!”

     “So, we’ve established he’s male.”

Lestrade shoved a chip in his mouth and chewed fiercely at Anderson who waited with folded arms until his boss came back from primary school.

     “I’m sure it’s not my business, Detective Inspector, sir…”

     “It’s not.”

     “…  but, since you’ve been a eunuch for the entirety of recent memory, this is almost interesting.  Details, please.”

     “Fuck off.”

     “Alright, we’ll start with fucking.  How often does this occur and what are the positions of preference?”

The plastic fork didn’t embed itself in the table the way Lestrade had hoped and he had to postpone killing his forensics man while he picked up pieces of white plastic from the floor.

     “Look… I had a nice dinner and drinks evening last night.  It was fun and… maybe, for a moment, I was remembering just how fun it was.”

     “And thinking about calling the person you had fun with.”

     “Was not.”

     “Was so, which was why you were stroking your mobile, both for its communication ability and because you were imagining stroking something else, which has nearly put me off my lunch.”

     “Is it scary in that head of yours, what with all the hallucinations you’re suffering?”

     “Call him and get it over with.”

     “Nah… he’s a busy man.”

     “So are you, but even _you_ can take a five-minute call.  Coincidentally, that means you can _make_ a five-minute call, so start using your mobile for something other than a sexual surrogate.”

     “I don’t want to look desperate.”

     “Too late.  Make the call.”

     “Twat.  I don’t want My… my friend to _think_ I’m desperate.”

     “If you ask him what he’s wearing, he’ll think you’re desperate.  If you ask him to marry you, he’ll think you’re desperate.  If you tell him you had a nice time last night and wanted to thank him for spending that time with you, he’ll think you’re polite and still interested.  Make.  The.  Call.”

Well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?  Hopefully not…

     “Can I, at least, have some privacy?”

     “Are you going to embarrass yourself with your frankly pathetic attempts at innuendo?”

     “Maybe.”

     “Right.  I’ll see you in the car.”

Lestrade waited until Anderson was well and truly out of earshot, then took a deep breath and hit the button on his phone he previously had only used for Sherlock-related situations.

     “Gregory!  I… oh.  This is about Sherlock isn’t it?”

     “Actually, no.  I just… well, I just wanted to give you a ring to say what a grand time I had last night and to thank you, again, for spending that time with me.”

How gloriously polite.   What a mannerly man was his… the Detective Inspector.  And a phone call stated plainly that he had been on Gregory’s mind, which was an even more glorious thing.

     “It was entirely my pleasure, Gregory and… I do hope we are still seeking to plan another such evening in the near future.”

     “Absolutely!  I’m looking forward to it.  Actually… it’s what, Wednesday?  Would… I can’t make any promises for _any_ day, really, but would Saturday be a possibility?  I’ve got some ends to tie up on a couple of cases, but I think there’s a good chance I can be free on Saturday night.  Seven would work for me, I think, but later is alright, too.”

The invitation.   It had come.  Not a possibility, not a shared wish, but a concrete invitation to carve their intentions in stone.  Or as stony a substance as one could have given both their rather rigorous work schedules.  But, Saturday… the day was rather full and he _had_ been slated to attend a function in the evening to act as a pair of open ears, but… that could be delegated to someone else.  Someone who, perhaps, looked far  more lovely in a cocktail dress than did he and, fortuitously, enjoyed the occasional party that a cocktail dress merited.  _And_ , someone who, only this morning, was whinging about a weekend that was as bereft of recreational pursuits as a gulag…

     “I believe Saturday at seven would suit me nicely.  Thank you, Gregory.  I am already anticipating the experience.  And, I shall not disappoint you with our meal.“

     “I’ve already got my list of drinks for you to taste, so my part’s covered.”

     “Excellent.  Already my day is a brighter one.”

     “Glad I could be of help.  I’ve got to get back to work now, but… I just wanted to say hello and… well, I’ve already said the rest, so enjoy the rest of your day, Mycroft.”

     “I shall, Gregory, and I offer the same to you.  Until Saturday.”

     “Until Saturday.”

Lestrade made sure the call was over before giggling like an over-excited toddler and giving his mobile a kiss.  He had a date!  A real date with an interesting, sexy man and that was worth the big smile on his face that was probably scaring the other patrons, so it was time to beat a hasty retreat and torture Anderson instead.  Who certainly would _not_ be getting a pint on his DI’s tab once they were done for the  day.  He’d be getting two…

__________

Saturday.   He would be seeing Gregory on Saturday.  No subterfuge, no tentativeness… certainly not after the Brushing of the Hand.  Such a bold action was not soon forgotten; he was quite certain of that after seeing the quick flash of excitement in the Detective Inspector’s eyes.  Could there possibly be the _holding_ of hands?   The holding of hands and the exchange of meaningful looks?  Could he be anything besides a soggy heroine of a poorly-written romance novel?  Yes.  Yes he could.  And he would.  For Gregory was worth that.  And so very much more…


	7. Chapter 7

Ok.  Ok ok ok ok ok.  The flat was actually… presentable.   Mycroft was probably too polite to comment on the grime last time he was here, but there was no reason he couldn’t take steps to demonstrate that he wasn’t a pig and this wasn’t his sty.  You could tell Mycroft liked clean and tidy, too.  Never a speck on his suit, nails neat and trimmed.  No breakfast in his teeth, sleep in his eyes or stubble on his chin.  The man personified proper grooming and it had to have been torture to sit here with the clutter and dust and floor that hadn’t seen a broom in a month.

Not this time, though.  This time, there was clean.  There was neatness.  There was a bit of polish on the wood.  There was shoes.  In a nod to Mycroft’s apparent appreciation of the atmosphere, though, sandals were on offer, which met the relevant criteria for being shoes, but didn’t overdo the shoeness and spoil his look.  Which was important, because… the look.  Mycroft liked the look.  That was important.  The look must, therefore, be maintained.  Sandals, drawstring trousers, one of his best and brightest shirts on his back.  Might there be a pendant peeking out from the open space revealed when the top two buttons had been brazenly separated from their buttonholes?  Yes, it might be so.  Might the pendant be framed by a sparse, but manly, sprinkling of chest hair to demonstrate his mature virility?  That might also be so.

Final check.   Drink-making supplies?  Yes.  Tiki mugs chosen and ready for service?  Yes.  All his best decorative bits and pieces on display?  Yes.  One painstakingly-crafted playlist on deck to keep the music going all night?  Oh, yes.  Looked like he was ready.  Shite!  Forgot to brush teeth!  Coffee breath at ten paces was not how he wanted to greet his guest!  And… just maybe… he could get a little closer than ten paces to his guest.  A lot closer.  On the sofa, cushion to cushion… maybe thigh to thigh… maybe wrapped in a tangle of arms and legs that you’d need a chiropractor to straighten out... any or all of that was good. He wasn’t picky.  God, please let this go well…

__________

Of course.   Of course of course of course of course of course.  The one night he actually had social plans the world simply had to descend into hooliganism that only the firmest of tones could bring to heel.  And, since _his_ were the firmest tones in any arena of government, it had been a dreary day of stentorian oration that ended only through methods so draconian and uncompromising that… well, he _was_ rather proud of himself and  Anthea allowed him a small dish of gelato as a reward.

Now, he was fully half an hour behind his carefully-scripted schedule and if he did not make haste he would be late for his… evening… with Gregory.  Which was not permissible.  It would send entirely the wrong message and no good could come of starting a venture on that particular foot.  So, must accomplish all hygiene and grooming issues with utmost efficiency and have the menu he’d chosen delivered rather than stop to collect it himself.  And then… dress.  A matter of some indecision.  There was an urge, a small but pressing urge to don something more in line with the tone of the ambience, however… would he appear ridiculous?  Aping something for which he had no real experience or knowledge?  Seem the poseur?  That was also not the proper foot on which to commence his evening and he would not suffer some karmic hex because of ill-chosen feet.

An ensemble, then, that was casual, comfortable, yet not a match for what the Detective Inspector would likely wear.  Which would be resplendent.  Gregory wore his passions beautifully, naturally… like a man of confidence and depth.  A man who exuded masculinity.  A man who… who would feel abandoned if he did not move his gelato-plumped arse into the shower and get on with his preparations.  Much depended on this night and he must be flawless in his presentation, his articulation, his appreciation... Heavens above, please let this go well…

__________

Standing here like a schoolboy was not in the spirit of letting this go well!  It would not, for example, place him in visual contact with the person he was here to see.  It would also not set him in proximity to said person to take in the manly aroma of his person and, if luck favored the bold, permit him another soft touch of hands.  The Detective Inspector had highly enticing hands.  Large, strong… oh, bother.  He was standing in a corridor having impure thoughts about Gregory’s hands.  He _was_ a schoolboy!  Well, if he must be a schoolboy, he would be one who embraced the brashness of youth and felt no reticence about knocking upon a door.  See?  One door knocked upon so there was no chance of skittering around the corner to collect one’s wits and rethink one’s choices in life.

     “Mycroft!  Right on time, too.  Come in.  I’ve been looking forward to his all day.”

Walk.  Walk forward.  Do not stand here transfixed by the gorgeous man who has answered your knock.  And say something!  You cannot match his exquisiteness, but you can at least speak, you useless bureaucrat!

     “As have I, Gregory.  And may I compliment you on your attire?  What a debonair figure you cut in your finery.”

Place this man on a warm, sun-kissed beach and he would rule like a god over all who came to pay homage.

     “Listen to you.  You’ll give me a swelled head with talk like that.”

Can you speak more than one paragraph without being suggestive?  Really, is it a sickness?  Or are you fourteen?  Or _was_ it suggestive?  Is it just you who thinks it’s suggestive because you’re one of those  wankers who makes everything sexual?  Already doomed… might as well drink the overproof rum in one go and leave Mycroft with a few good memories to look back on.

     “I do hope not, for your cranium is sized most perfectly for the rest of your proportions.”

_ Confirmation _ that you are the only sex pervert in the flat.   Although… was that the tiniest, tantalizing taste of twinkle in Mycroft’s eyes?  Ah ha!  It was.  Revising assessment of situation… there are _two_ sex perverts in the flat and that is something worth celebrating.

     “Flatterer.  How about a drink?  I have a few nice mugs picked out and waiting for us.”

     “That would be most welcome.  I am very anxious to delve into your skills as a cocktail master.  And how… oh my.  Your flat is positively exotic and in the most inviting of ways.”

Don’t puff up at his approving tone and widened eyes, you arrogant sod.  Be humble and appreciative.

     “I did kick the kitsch up notch, if I do say so myself.”

Well, that was a failure on both the humble _and_ appreciative fronts.  You couldn’t host a condemned man’s last meal properly, you useless copper.  Try again.

     “I’m glad you like it, though.  I usually don’t bring out my bigger things, such as the carvings, but I knew you liked the feel of all of this and thought you might enjoy seeing them.”

Better.  Not by much, but, it’s a start.  Focus on drink making.  That’s something you’re actually good at.

     “I am enjoying it highly, I assure you.  The space is very effectively transformed and I feel part of a completely different world, one to delight each of the senses.”

Gregory had taken pains to provide him a pleasurable experience.  What a scintillating and accommodating host.  And… well, if his pulse did not stabilize from the sight of the Detective Inspector in his regalia, this evening might end in a far different locale and he had no interest in being scowled at by a NHS physician.

     “Well, this should help transform you even further.  Thought we’d start simple with a couple of Mai Tai’s.”

In a vessel that made Mycroft smile even before he had it in his hands.

     “What a ferocious little fellow.”

     “Isn’t he!  This is a good one for a smaller drink and I happen to have a pair of them.”

Mycroft accepted his cocktail and took a very approving sip.

     “Luscious.  Absolutely luscious.”

     “Thanks!  Shall we… have a seat?”

On the sofa where body contact is not entirely out of the question depending on how one stretched or tripped over imaginary shoes to fall into a no-longer-empty lap?

     “I would be delighted.”

Mycroft followed Lestrade and debated only slightly before sitting on the sofa with what he hoped was a relaxed and ever-so-slightly tempting drape of his body.

     “And I applaud your musical selections.  I must gain from you the relevant artists and titles to add to my own collection.”

     “Really?  Sure!  I’d love to pass that along.  Though…”

No, don’t you dare think go big or go home because you officially retired that after last time in a last-ditch effort to regain your maturity.

     “… if it’d help, I can also put a folder together of my favorites so you have something to listen to while you browse around for more.”

     “Gregory Lestrade… is that not slightly illegal?”

     “I have absolutely no knowledge of anything that might be slightly illegal about the simple folder of innocuous files that I might slip you on a flash drive.  No knowledge whatsoever.”

     “Excellent.  A man of both practicality and plausible deniability.  And I will be most grateful for your innocuous files.  I do enjoy a bit of music while I work and I feel this shall stimulate my mind very successfully.”

     “Then consider it done.”

Consider _anything_ done if you smile at me like that.  Seriously, you could ask me to set myself on fire and I’d be tearing apart the flat looking for a match.

     “And I may have to mine your knowledge for the proper stocking of spirits to craft a cocktail such as this for myself.  It really is a fortuitous marriage of flavors.”

     “Happy to share any recipes I have.  I’ll make a few things for you tonight so you’ll have a chance to see what sorts of drinks you like.  What’s your normal poison at home?”

     “Oh, I am very simple in my tastes.  A glass of good whisky or brandy.  Some port or sherry, now and then.  A glass of wine with dinner, a nice gin and tonic in the summer.  Nothing as adventurous as this and I find that my palate now desires a bit of adventure.”

     “Then you are certainly in for a happy evening!  Got some classics planned and they’ll certainly make you walk an adventurous path.  And…”

Lestrade snarled at the knock at the door, but brightened quickly when Mycroft gently patted his knee.

     “Now, now, Gregory, it is, I am sure, simply the delivery driver with our meal.  I had hoped to collect it personally; however, my day ran a tad longer than expected.  Do excuse me.”

Mycroft got up and hoped none of his shock at his overt familiarity with his host showed on his face.  He had touched Gregory.  Not brushed… touched.  Laid hands upon his person.  In the most un-thought about manner imaginable.  As if it were the most natural thing in the world.  How unutterably wanton… no, how to devise an excuse to do it again…

__

Don’t do it.  Don’t think about those long fingers caressing your leg.  Don’t think about those long fingers _at all_.  Not about how much you want them back on your leg or anywhere on your body, actually.  Not about what they’d feel like in your mouth or in… other things.  Especially not about what it would be like to lace your fingers between them and do something ridiculous like watch the sun set.  Why are you still thinking about them?  You’re wearing thin linen trousers, you idiot!  Might as well have laid a tissue over your erection for all the concealment these things provide!

     “And I am proved correct!  I do hope my selections meet with your approval.”

     “I don’t have a doubt about it.  It smells fantastic.”

Lestrade double-checked his non-erect state, then rose from the sofa to join the bag-carrying Mycroft in the kitchen.

     “And I have another surprise.  These I really don’t take out often, but…”

A reach to the highest shelf brought down plates that carried through the theme of the night and made Mycroft laugh with surprise.

     “You have tiki tablewear!”

     “Old stuff, too.  No tatty plastic for my special guest.  Found this in an antiques shop years ago and bought all they had.  And, behold!”

     “Your cutlery has a bamboo pattern.  I am truly impressed.”

     “Matches the bamboo going around the rim of the plates and the little sprigs around the tiki hut.  My mum would be proud.  She always set a nice table, even if there wasn’t a stalk of bamboo to be seen.”

     “I have full faith you would bring your mother great honor.  Now, let us see if the food merits such a magnificent presentation.”

And if the chef merited continued residence in this fine nation.   He had been rather explicit on the expected level of quality and there would be no forgiveness if this fell short of the mark.

     “Mycroft… this looks amazing!  Let me… ohhhhhhh… roast pork.  Tastes like it was made over an open fire.”

     “Which it was, I do believe.”

     “Really?  That’s… it doesn’t really matter what _that’s_ all about because my mouth is too busy eating this delicious pork.”

     “Shall I actually put some of that on your plate or will you be dining on your feet?”

Not allowed.  You are not allowed to smile shyly and boast a rose-tinged cheek, Gregory Lestrade.  That is simply dastardly.  But, please do not stop until I have branded every detail into my memory.

     “A plate is fine.  Got a little carried away, I suppose.  And a plate gives me room for all the other lovely things I’m sure are in the bags.  There are a lot of bags, Mycroft.  Did you, perhaps, have a little fun with the planning?”

Fun?   Perusing the various bodies of information for types of dishes, competencies of relevant restaurants, auditioning candidate chefs, hiding his actions from Anthea, who discovered them anyway and demanded a full share of the fish and coconut prawns as payment for her silence… it was not fun.  It was _heavenly_ …

     “I may have taken _some_ enjoyment from the act.”

     “Look at you beaming with pride.  And it’s well-deserved, too.  Prawns!  I do love a…. oh yes!  More than one kind!”

     “I opted for breadth rather than depth.  A smattering of many tastes to sample to hone my preferences.  Though you are the master, I am still the novice and I do prize a well-rounded education.”

And, if that education involves you laughing from my feeble witticisms, then I consider myself a blessed man.

     “That’s schooling I can support!  Alright then, I’ll call this Round 1.  One heaping plate of Round 1 that shall be followed by an equally-heaping plate of Round 2.  With a fresh cocktail, of course.”

     “A splendid plan and one I shall follow gladly.”

That is, if they actually made it to the sofa with their plates as Gregory appeared to be having a difficult time not eating everything as he removed it from its container.  Such an enthusiastic man.  The pleasure he took from the simple things was… inspiring.  When had _he_ last experienced such joy over a meal?  The last time he shared it with the Detective Inspector would be the answer to that question…

     “Ok.  I’m plated.”

     “And you did it with such… well, I was tempted to say efficiency, but the lie would sour my dinner.”

Success!  Another of his usually-produced-blank-stares jests meets with the pealing bells of laughter.  If this was the only music to accompany their dining, he would find it perfectly satisfying.

     “It’s hard to be genteel when I’ve got treasure on my table.  But see?  Walking away so I can sit and eat like a proper gentleman.”

And, of course, walk with the affected prim stride that demonstrates the fullness of your humor, you scamp.  And please pay no notice to the fact that I have sat a full ten percent closer to you on the sofa than in previous sittings.  Easier to access the sofa table and my cocktail, you see…

__

Mycroft was laughing.  He was laughing and smiling and sitting closer so that an in-unison grab-for-drinks was sure to result in contact.  The scamp.  The stunning, cunning, get-my-blood-running scamp…

     “And, I suppose the standard dinner conversation is de rigueur.  Tell me, Gregory, how was your day?”

     “Right!  Have to maintain the civilities or we’re no better than monkeys.  Which _are_ my favorite animal, by the  way.  And… it was the sort of day that I’m happy to get out of bed for.  After three or four 5-more-minute alarm resets, of course.  Made progress on a case that’s been bothering me for a few weeks and we should see an arrest in a couple of days.”

     “Bravo, Detective Inspector.  I know well the feeling of a hoped-for victory finally manifesting.  It does put, as they say, the wind in one’s sails.”

     “And you?  You mentioned work kept you late.”

     “As if often does, I’m afraid.  The unexpected which demands attention, in addition to the planned items which _are_ planned for they require your attention, as well.   Fortunately, I am used to such things and ensure that even my most highly-scheduled days allow time for unanticipated events or, failing that, can be delegated in such a way that matters can be handled for certain items with only my most cursory administration.”

     “Smart.  I’ve always admired that about you, Mycroft.  Not only are you book-smart, but you know how to use that smartness effectively.  I run across lots of different people in my job and it gives me real pain to see someone who has a wealth of knowledge in their heads and are utterly useless for everything in this world.”

Gregory recognized his both his intelligence and his competence.  Both.  Recognized.  And praised.  The vibrancy of the accolade was nearly blinding.

     “My sincerest thanks for your kind words.  I do try to make productive use of my mental arsenal.  And, if I might return the compliment?  I have many occasions to interact with various members of law enforcement at different levels of authority and few demonstrate the degree of practicality, common sense and intellectual prowess that you bring to your work.”

That.  Was.  Amazing.  Not a ‘and you do a good job, too, Greg’ or something throwaway said just for politeness.  That was real.  Mycroft’s honest smile was in play while it was said, too, so that made it doubly real, because Mycroft had a lot of smiles, not that he’d been cataloging them, which would be creepy, but he did and that was his genuinely honest one.  Was there anything about this man that wasn’t spectacular?

     “I appreciate that!  I try as best as I can to put my brain into my work and not just my brawn.”

No.  Stop.  What are you doing?  Do _not_ flex your bicep like a ridiculous muscle boy at the gym!  Why aren’t you listening to me?  You’re _part_ of me, you stupid arm!  And that’s not even a bicep!  It’s flab that’s gotten pushed up and wedged between shoulder and elbow!

__

Be still my heart.  Gregory was posing.  Putting his masculine strength on display for my inspection.  Exactly like a wild animal showcasing their attributes to a potential mate.  This was… stirring.  Intensely stirring.  In places where stirring should not be commencing until later, if the stars properly aligned, during the more naked portion of the evening.

     “Such well-developed musculature.  I would certainly have no fear treading through questionable areas of the city knowing such a formidable weapon was at the ready to leap to my defense.”

     “Now, I know, I absolutely know, that you are more than capable of holding your own in a fight, so none of that silly talk.”

     “Oh?  And from where did that perception arise?”

     “The way you move.  You move like you know how you’re moving.  You’re aware of how your body is working and can have it do whatever you want it to.  That’s what I see for the best fighters so… there you go.”

And the best lovers, too, but that part would go unmentioned for the moment.

__

Gregory perceived him in such a fashion?  In a masterful and highly feline fashion?  Oh, this was really too much.  Why had he brought no heart medication!  If there was not a bliss-inspired cardiac event before dinner was over, divine intervention was surely at work!

     “Well, I might admit to some small talent for self-defense.  For example, if you would attempt to pry from my fingers this luscious bit of fish or my flavorful beverage, I would guard my provisions with all due vigor.”

     “I consider myself duly warned.  Though… it does look like your cocktail is getting low.  Time for a new one?”

     “I would be delighted.  And what might I expect this time?”

     “Oh, you’ll see.”

Lestrade made a show of putting his plate far out of Mycroft’s reach and laughed when Mycroft leaned over so far his feet came off the floor to steal a skewer of grilled and sauced chicken strips.  The laughter continued when Mycroft made his own theatrical show of thinking and coming to the difficult decision of following his host to the kitchen to watch the drinks being made.

     “And what might I be enjoying?”

     “A Fog Cutter.  This one’s sort of strong, so go a bit slow with it.”

Mycroft’s eyes progressively widened as rum, then brandy, then gin went into the shaker with a bit of fruit juice, then certainly did not squeak when sherry was floated on top of the cocktail after it was poured into yet another of Lestrade’s mugs.

     “My heavens.  That is quite a robust concoction.”

     “Try it.  Tell me what you think.”

After one sip, Mycroft wasn’t certain he _could_ think.  A mighty punch was packed by his libation, but he would rally valiantly, for Holmes men were made of stern stuff.  Well, not Sherlock.  He was made of complaint and vanity, but that was beside the point.

     “I am most taken aback, but in a highly appreciative manner.  This is not as sweet as our previous offering, but it is equally rich with flavor and vitality.”

     “Thanks!  And it needed a bigger mug, so I had to make a swap.  I love Mr. Bali Hai… he’s even got a lid!”

Lestrade held Mycroft’s straw and threaded it through the hole in the lid he placed on the mug, much to his guest’s amusement.

     “Truly inspired.  I must declare this the most enjoyable of learning experiences.”

     “Anytime.   I won’t say I’m happy to have the chance to show off, but I am, so I’ll be glad to provide all the lessons you’d like.  And look!  We’re close to the food, so we can take a little back with us as soon as I make my own drink.”

     “Might I…”

     “Yeah?”

     “Would you be willing to allow me to try to craft your beverage?”

     “I’d love it!  Here, I’ll talk you through it.”

Lestrade moved over so Mycroft could stand next to him… very much next to him… and began to walk him through the steps of measuring and mixing each of the ingredients.  If there was a small amount of touching to lift his guests arms higher to make the shaking more impressive, it was purely academic in nature.

     “Ok, now pour into my mug and, yes… pour a little bit of sherry on the top.  Perfect!  You did that like a pro.  And let me taste… oh, yes… Yes, that is a properly made Fog Cutter.  You get top marks, Mr. Holmes.  I shall sip this with incredible pleasure.”

He had prevented wars, forestalled economic collapses and seen despotic potentates toddled off to a painful, though brief, retirement and nothing, not a bit of that, filled him with the same sense of pride as did the Detective Inspector’s praise.  His virgin foray into this new world had been a smashing success and he could only hope he was not glowing more brightly than the lighting for that would surely ruin the seductive tone of the flat.

     “Thank you, Gregory.  That is most kind.”

And you looked sexy making it.

     “And you looked like you enjoyed making it.”

Coward.

     “I must admit that I did.  I keep a well-stocked supply of spirits in my home, but have never really mixed a cocktail, per se.  I am rather tickled that I performed the task correctly.”

     “Masterfully, I’d say.  Well, shall we drag these hefty bastards back to our food and introduce them to each other?”

     “We shall.  And, I shall bring along this container of succulent dumplings with my free hand.”

With my free hand I want to take a grab of something far more succulent, Mr. Holmes, because your bottom is delicious than any dumpling, but that might be a tad too forward at this point.  I’ll just watch your bottom instead as you saunter to the sofa and be content with my daily fill of fine art.

     “And I’ll bring this… oh, spicy beef.  My mouth is ready for that.”

And for something else that would, no doubt, be spicy.  And salty.  And hefty.  And was a reminder needed for the tissue and erection issue?  No?  Are you sure because there are no try-again’s if you muck it up?  Ok, but remember this conversation Mr. Penis, because we will _not_ be having it again.

     “There we go.  More food, more drink, the music flows… this is the sort of party I can stand behind!”

     “I wholeheartedly agree.  I am forced, on numerous occasions, to attend all manner of social gathering, and this sits, undoubtedly, at the top of the scale for entertainment.”

     “The types of parties where you have to dress up and worry that your caviar is going to drop onto your crisp white shirt so you look like a complete berk?”

Or is that only _my_ paranoid fear about attending a truly nice social function.

     “A painful number of times, yes.  They are truly soul-sapping experiences, though, I should also state that I have not attended such a function with a collegial partner on my arm.  That might make a difference, as I have noted couples with established and contented bonds suffer less terribly than the rest of the guests during these marathons of tedium.”

Did that sound like a desperate plea for companionship?  If not, perhaps he should try again.

     “I think you’re right about that.  If you’re there with someone you actually like, you can keep yourselves amused, usually at the expense of everyone else, I admit, but it does make for a nicer time and…”

Yes, Gregory… see the shiny, wriggling worm… snatch it between your strong, beautiful teeth and suck it in.

     “… I’ll make you a deal.  You get invited to a marathon of tedium you know is going to be crippling, just ring me and I’ll give my shoes a shine and be your ‘plus one.’  If we truly fear we can’t make it through to the end alive, I’ll fake a case of plague and give us an excuse to leave early.  How does that sound?”

Like the entirety of his dreams come true.

     “I do hope you are not joshing, for I _will_ accept your offer and press you into service.  Misery shared is misery lessened and I will gladly share my misery with you.”

Ok, I wasn’t/was/okreallywasn’t joshing, so YES!  And the ball was squarely in Mycroft’s court to make the next move on that score so life was very good at the moment.  Of course, he actually _needed_ posh shoes to shine, but that was a worry for another day.

     “Gregory Lestrade doesn’t make offers he won’t make good on.”

And please feel free to take that in whatever way strikes your fancy, Mr. Holmes.  If you’re running short of ideas, I can offer a few to help you along.

     “Then we have an accord.  Truly this is an auspicious evening.”

     “I agree.  And we’re only on our second drink!”

     “I am aflutter with anticipation for their brethren.”

     “I think you might be fluttering quite loftily, actually, if you keep drinking that Fog Cutter so quickly.”

     “Yes, you might be right.  I shall hereby find something else to do with my mouth.”

And on that note, Mycroft popped a piece of pork into between his lips, Lestrade crossed his legs and each waited for the heat in their nerves to die down.  Could this night get any better?  Neither man knew, but had very strong suspicions on that front and was very happy they had the time, and privacy, to find out…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, these are the recipes I use for the chapter's cocktails:
> 
> Mai Tai
> 
> Juice of one lime  
> 1/2 oz orange curacao (or other orange liqueur)  
> 1/4 oz simple syrup  
> 1/4 oz orgeat  
> 1 oz dark rum  
> 1 oz light rum  
> 1 cup crushed ice
> 
> Pour all ingredients into shaker and give a good shake. Pour into double old-fashioned glass or tiki mug. Greg used the [ferocious Steven Crane (yellow) headhunter mug.](http://eventhorizon451.tumblr.com/post/118157923296/the-latest-chapter-of-all-you-need-is-rum-just)
> 
> Fog Cutter:
> 
> 2 oz light or gold rum  
> 1 oz brandy  
> 1/2 oz gin  
> 2 oz lemon juice  
> 1 oz orange juice (some people like the lemon and OJ proportions switched)  
> 1/2 oz orgeat  
> Sweet sherry
> 
> Add all ingredients with ice cubes in shaker. Pour into large glass and add more ice to fill. Top with sherry. This one went in Greg's [Mr. Bali Hai mug](http://eventhorizon451.tumblr.com/post/118157923296/the-latest-chapter-of-all-you-need-is-rum-just), complete with straw.


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft reflected on the fact that there were few times, pitifully few, where he found himself completely full after a meal.  His waistline would not permit his truly-desired portion sizes at every meal, in addition to the small treats he was nearly unable to refuse during the day and if it was a choice between a piece of lamb and a piece of chocolate… well, there really _was_ no choice.  But now, his stomach was blissfully filled and the bliss was magnified, knowing the Detective Inspector was experiencing the same.

     “The good thing about these trousers is that the waistband expands if you tie them loosely enough.  That was fantastic!  I loved every bite.”

     “As did I.  A smorgasbord of the most delectable tastes and I found not a single unwelcome item in the order.”

Therefore, the chef would retain ownership of his home, property and passport, as well as find himself gaining a new and loyal customer.

     “I wish I was one of those people who can eat like that every night and stay slim as a rail.  As it is, I have to keep an eye on things if I want a few pints or cocktails during the week.  I still have to stay fairly fit for the job, but I can’t give up my occasional indulgence, so tomorrow will probably put a tiny bit of meat and an aircraft carrier of vegetables on my dinner plate.”

No!  Do not reach out commiseratively to hold Gregory’s hand!  Is it not enough to know that he feels your pain and in your fantasy future household, there would be shared giggling at stolen sweets and sips, as well as mournful frowns at the plates of salad that served as the evening meal?  Well, no, the commiserative hand-holding would be a _highly_ welcome accompaniment, however, there had already been patting, so must stay on the safe side of the physical intimacy line.  For now.

     “Yes, such are the perils of appreciating the fine things in life.  Moderation in all things, I suppose.”

     “Except… well, not all things.”

     “No?”

     “I can think of something that would actually be good for the waistline if you indulged a _lot_.”

     “Oh, and what would that be?”

Come on, Mycroft.  You’re not that clueless.  I’m trying to be clever here; give me some help.

     “Something that really got your heart rate up.”

     “Jogging?”

You _are_ that clueless!

     “No.  Jogging isn’t a lot of fun.  What I’m thinking about _is_ a lot of fun.  Get it?”

     “I do favor a swim when I have the chance.”

He’s not joking, either.  Which is amazing because Mycroft swimming is now officially added to the bank of _private time_ images, but that’s not helping me out of my stupid attempt at a joke!  Trapped!  Trapped like a weasel in a snare…

     “That’s good to know.  I have a taste for swimming myself, but… Mycroft.  Put on your wink-wink-nudge-nudge hat a second, then think hard.”

     “Pardon?”

Oh my god…

     “SEX!  S-E-big sexy X!”

     “Oh!”

YOU ARE THE STUPIDEST MAN ALIVE!  ANTHEA WOULD HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR MISSING SUCH SUBTLY-APPLIED INNUENDO!  DOLT!  FEEBLE-WITTED DOLTISH DIMWIT!  Be calm… evince a look of pleasured surprise on your face…

     “There we go.  I think you’ve got the right end of the stick.”

And he’s not appalled at how pitifully sex-crazed you are.  Want to show him the condoms in your wallet?  Not that there _are_ any, but there could be, so the theory’s sound.  Really… your tissue-shrouded manhood should _not_ be having a voice in this conversation.

     “I do and feel quite the dunce for missing the _thrust_ of the conversation.”

See, Gregory?  I am not completely dunderheaded on the topic, though, I do admit it is a near thing.

__

Ok, maybe the manhood should have a small say.  Make note to use Mycroft’s teasing little grin as gauge for acceptable amount of attention devoted to thoughts coming from body’s smaller head.

     “Glad I could help.  Now, are you ready for something… special?”

If, by special, you mean your sultry and excited smile, Detective Inspector, then yes.  My body is supremely ready.

     “I do believe that I am.”

     “Great!  Help me carry the casualties of our dinner into the kitchen and I’ll make something fun for us.”

If Gregory considered this new addition to their evening fun, how grand must it be?  Already the level of enjoyment was stratospheric!

     “May I know in advance the source of my entertainment or shall it remain a surprise?”

     “Oh, I’ll surprise you.  Not that it’ll be much of a surprise since you’ll watch me make it.”

Lestrade smiled and let his tongue peek out in a tiny, anticipatory gesture that shot a lightning bolt through Mycroft’s spine.  The Detective’s Inspector tongue was heretofore considered a lethal weapon and he had little objection to dying from its velvet touch.

     “Ok, dishes in the sink and I’ll tend to those later.  Now, another top shelf item needs to be brought down.  Do me the favor while I pull out a few things?  That shelf right there.”

Mycroft followed Lestrade’s pointed finger and opened the cabinet, reaching up and back to grasp what appeared to be a large bowl.  A delightfully-decorated bowl, at that.

     “That’s the one!”

     “Gregory… you are not implying that this voluminous vessel is used for your special cocktails?”

     “I surely am.  Right now, you could call it a scorpion bowl.  But, with this little fellow…”

Lestrade set a small porcelain volcano in the center of the bowl and made a tah dah gesture.

     “… it’s a volcano bowl!”

     “I say… Gregory.  You are smiling far too brightly for this to be the end of your surprise.”

     “Well spotted.  Just watch.  You’re going to like this.”

There was no question about that, in Mycroft’s opinion, but he would admit to a growing amazement as Lestrade mixed a large amount of alcohol and juices with ice and poured it carefully into the bowl around the volcano insert.

     “Now, the best part.”

Mycroft felt absolutely no shame clapping  when Lestrade poured some overproof rum into the depression at the top of the volcano and lit it on fire because this was absolutely the most playful thing imaginable and he had never realized his own rather considerable capacity for playfulness and whimsy until the DI stepped into his life.

     “Exceptional!  But, I must ask… how does one drink said beverage without experiencing a similar combustion?”

Lestrade’s grin grew as he ran a hand around another cupboard and pulled down two _very_ long straws.

     “No worry about a hair fire with Greg Lestrade on the job.”

     “Simply astonishing.  I do admit to a surfeit of surprise, Gregory.  Very well done.”

     “Thanks!  Now, let’s see if I can get it to the sofa table without a disaster.  Bring the straws?”

Mycroft quickly grabbed the straws and followed Lestrade closely, staying on alert for any wayward flames or sloshed libations.  When the bowl was set down, Lestrade took one straw and left Mycroft with the other, motioning his guest to have a seat and take a sip.

     “Nelson’s Column!  This is… oh my.”

     “Good, huh?”

     “I believe my vision is changing colors.”

     “Sign of a quality volcano bowl.”

     “I shall keep that in mind.  This is a marvel, Gregory.  And how jauntily it celebrates its flammable nature.”

     “The open flame does give it that special something, doesn’t it?  Cozy, yet threatening.  Poor little villagers down at the base look up and see flames shooting out of the local volcano… that’s the start of a very bad day.”

     “I quite agree.  Though I do admit surprise that you have no villagers in your vessel to immolate when the fires of hell rain down from sky.”

     “Oh, you want villagers?”

Lestrade hopped up and hoped his swagger looked as good as it felt, while he rummaged through a drawer and returned with something in a loosely-closed fist.

     “Voila!”

A series of plastic mermaids dove into the high-potency pool and Mycroft snorted merrily at the sight.

     “The perfect denizens for our idyllic tropical scene.  I do suppose the alcohol would be absorbed through their gills, however, so I expect their mythic song to be a lively one this evening.”

     “They can sing along with our tunes.  I have no problem with a free concert in addition to my playlist.  What?”

Lestrade didn’t think his joke was _that_ funny, but Mycroft was giggling softly and, well, if he never found out what his companion was giggling about that was perfectly fine because the sound was mesmerizing.

     “Oh… I am taking amusement with myself.  I recognize that I present a taciturn affect to those around me and it greatly is to my benefit to do so.  Consequently, there are fewer people than the fingers on a hand that would comfortably make merry with me and none, really, would do so to this joyful a degree.  I am having _fun_ , Gregory, and that is not something I can often claim.”

If he had anything resembling a tuneful voice, Lestrade would have it singing loud and clear through the flat.  He was on top of a Mycroft list!  The top of a highly-exclusive, prestigious list, too!  Now, if he could just get on top of _Mycroft_ , the night would be the stuff of legends.  But, if not, that was fine, too.  There was list and that was enough.  At least for right now… 

     “Well, that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me and it’s even better because you’re having a nice time.  Might I assume, then…”

When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me, remember?  These could be crocodile infested waters to swim in… oh fuck that.  With all he ate for dinner, he was too fat for a crocodile to choke down anyway.

     “… that we’ll get the chance to do this again, sometime?”

Gregory had laid down the gauntlet.  The buttery-soft, breathtakingly-beautiful gauntlet, and now… now it was the test of fortitude.  Did he have the courage to pick it up?  Another evening?  Might there be the implication of commitment?  Of an understanding?  Oh dear… he was becoming flushed.  Best have a sip of… by the breasts of Venus de Milo!  That was a consequential drink!

     “Ok… well, that’s, yeah, I understand…”

ACK!  Buffoon!  Silence is as powerful a communicator as words and sends messages of peril and doom!

     “No!  No, Gregory, be of good cheer.  I simply…”

Honesty?  It had its place and time and… yes, this was the correct place and certainly the right time.

     “… I simply found myself dumbstruck by your offer.  Given my position and aforementioned demeanor, I am not one who is solicited for continued company, unless the inviter is hoping for some favor I might grant.  This is something new for me and I required, apparently, a moment to process the words.”

That was the loneliest, most heartbreaking thing Lestrade had ever heard.  He could understand it, in a way, because Mycroft was right – he _did_ send off powerful signals of, well, power, and most people wouldn’t want to get near that unless they wanted something, but… that was horrible!  Or not.  That meant _he_ didn’t have to worry about a lot of interlopers in his territory.  Not that Mycroft _was_ his territory, of course, because that was possessive and presumptuous, but taken as a general statement, from this point on, not referring specifically to one Mycroft Holmes, it was true.  And good.

     “No need to apologize… I understand.  And since you didn’t tell me anything different, I’ll just go ahead and start looking forward to the next gracing of my sofa with our arses.”

Number three!  There was a confirmed… something… oh, hang it!  There was a confirmed third date on the horizon!  Gregory was not put off by his dithering and demonstrable signs of mental defect!

     “I have no doubt it will rejoice in being again a participant in our revelry.”

Perhaps through supporting their bodies during their unbridled coupling should the bed be deemed too far a walk, given the intensity of their erupting lustful passions.

     “It’s a rowdy thing, that’s for certain.  Oh!  Another thing to add to my tiki room… a truly blinding sofa.  And chairs.  Can’t have something my Gran would have in her sitting room hobnobbing with all my bamboo and tiki masks.”

     “Dear me, no.  The offending of sensibilities on both fronts would be disastrous.”

Lestrade laughed, took his own long sip of his drink and used the necessary repositioning to… reposition… himself on the sofa.  It wasn’t _noticeably_ closer to Mycroft, if you didn’t look terribly closely at the situation, so that meant, of course, he hadn’t actually done it.

__

Sneaky, Gregory… bringing yourself deeper into my sphere.  Not that I have an issue with that, of course, I was simply admiring your technique.  In fact, I believe I shall try my hand at copying it.

__

Sneaky, Mycroft… budging closer almost exactly like I did except, as has been established, I didn’t _actually_ do that, so this is all _your_ sneakiness and has no connection to me.

     “It’s settled then.  The lottery throws stacks of money in my direction and I’m going shopping.  I’ll bring you along to make sure my choices aren’t too eye-searing, though.”

     “Oh, that might be unwise.  I find that I am growing quite fond of the visual stimulation this environment provides.  I fear I would nudge you towards the most vivacious specimens on offer, though, I somehow suspect you would not find that a significant problem.”

Ok.  Ok ok ok ok ok… he could work with that.  Because the time had come to work.  Or not work.  Work wasn’t the right word, not at all.  Work was the complete opposite of what the time had come for.  There had been mutual budging.  There had been randy words.  There had been non-randy words that were absolutely as good and… significant… as their randy brethren. Time… time time time time time… yes.  It was time.  Please let it be time… it had been so long, it was getting hard to know these things…

     “Yeah, you’re probably right.  Oh!  I didn’t show you this!  This is old.  My grandfather picked it up on a trip to Hawaii.  Isn’t he great?”

Lestrade hoped the screaming of his nerves wasn’t hurting his companion’s ears as he held up his tiki pendant for Mycroft to inspect.  Something he’d have to lean over to do.  Closely.  Lean closely, Mycroft… your eyes can’t see anything from over there.  Oh good.  You listened.

     “What an intriguing figurine.  The detail of the work is astonishing for something so small.”

And your scent is astonishing now that I am closer to your virile form.  Where your shirt reveals an expanse of naked flesh from which your pheromones can escape their vile prison of cloth.  Though… neither is as astonishing as your eyes.  Which now I am gazing into.  Their rich, warm brown which beckons me even closer.  So close in fact…

Neither man had a clue as to who closed the distance first, but both had a _powerful_ clue when their lips touched because the shudder that ran through their bodies was nearly as delicious as the kiss itself.  Though it was nothing compared to the response when they began to deepen the kiss and let their hands roam across their partner’s body, tentatively at first, then with greater and greater boldness, as the longing they’d suffered was replaced by a confident ecstasy they’d always dreamed they’d feel with the man in their arms.  This was…

     “BOLLOCKS!”

     “DAMNATION!”

Since each had left very explicit instructions not to be called unless it was an emergency along the lines of an alien invasion, hearing their work ringtones blaring from their mobiles was the worst possible sound the world could see fit to shove into their ears.  But, after nearly shouting at the person who was taking their life into their hands by phoning, they had to admit the right call had been made.

     “I’ve got a dead body, bomb-making materials and a lot of anti-government propaganda.  Plus, a few government types are already on scene.”

     “I have a verified terrorist threat for which I strongly suspect your dead body is, or should I say, was a part.”

     “We have to go.”

     “I agree.  Though…”

Mycroft had never hesitated even a moment when, in the past, such a call had come, but this time, he did.  And used that moment’s hesitation to press another kiss to Lestrade’s lips.

     “… though, I do not wish it.”

     “I don’t either, but that’s the price we pay for fame and fortune.”

That, at least, made Mycroft laugh and gave him the strength to stand and offer a hand to Lestrade to join him, which the Detective Inspector happily accepted, catching sight of his brightly-patterned sleeve as a bonus.

     “I’ve got to change.”

     “That would likely be wise, as I am certain your attire would cause quite the stir in such a somber setting.”

     “Well, they’re sending a car for me, so I have a minute.”

Which was long enough for another kiss, which was their first standing-up kiss and, yes, their bodies fit together perfectly, every curve, angle and line complementing each other with nothing less than geometric precision.  Just as they knew they would.  It was the hardest thing Mycroft had ever done to pull away and straighten his shirt to cover his upset at no longer being held like the most valuable treasure in the universe.

     “I am afraid… I should leave...”

     “Yeah, you should.  You have a driver waiting?”

     “No, but a car will most certainly be waiting by the time I arrive at the street.”

     “Then go.  I’ll just change and… I’ll see you soon.  It’s all ok, because I’ll see you again soon.”

Something Mycroft decided was officially an immutable point in his future.  He _would_ see his Gregory soon and that was simply the end of that.  His hopes had been realized and he would not, would _not_ , fail to take the chance he had been offered.

     “That you shall.  Goodbye, my dear.”

Fleeing the flat was entirely a matter of haste due to the seriousness of the terrorist situation, _not_ because he had appended a clear and unequivocal endearment to his farewell.  What a nonsensical notion…  what was not a nonsensical notion was a need for caffeine. And a breath freshener.  Terrorist plot or not, Anthea would be positively insufferable if she caught a whiff of rum on his breath.  Insufferable Anthea and terrorists was, potentially, beyond even his capacity to manage.

__

Mycroft called him ‘my dear.’  Oh… that was affectionate.  Not, ‘See ya, sexy!’ which was just lusty, but ‘Goodbye, my dear’ which was positively brimming with affection.  That was good.  That was wildly, spectacularly good.  Almost as good as the taste of Mycroft’s lips and the feel of his long, lean body.  Which he’d known would be amazing, but… he’d never dreamed it’d be _that_ amazing!  So, yeah… affection.  Taste and feel were good, but affection was its own world of wonders and he was more than happy to become a citizen of that particular world.  Had his daydreams involved actually being cared about?  Having a real relationship and not just a romp between the sheets?  Why, yes, they had.  They most certainly had and… ok, needed to get dressed.  No time for daydreaming about affection and kisses and taking long, slow licks of…  DRESSED!  Get dressed you stupid, incredibly happy idiot!  Dead bodies wait for no man!  Well, they do, in truth, but logic had to address in the world of wonders…  Know what did have an address in his wonder world, though?  Coffee.  And a breath freshener.  Dead body or not, Anderson would be positively insufferable if he caught a whiff of rum on his breath.  Insufferable Anderson and high-priority corpse was, potentially, beyond even his capacity to manage…  might need to ask Mycroft for lessons…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a good filler for a volcano bowl:
> 
> 2 oz gin  
> 1 oz dark rum   
> 2 oz Bacardi 151 rum  
> 2 oz light rum  
> 2 oz vodka  
> 2 oz grenadine   
> 6-8 oz fresh orange juice  
> 8-10 oz pineapple juice  
> lemon juice (to taste)  
> simple syrup (to taste)
> 
> Mix all of the above with ice and pour into bowl. Add some 151-proof rum into the volcano receptacle and set it ablaze just before serving.


	9. Chapter 9

“I’m sorry!I’m sorry!I’m sorry!I’m sorry!”

His PA was sorry.Oh happy day.

“Did you have the last piece of chocolate in the bottom drawer of my desk?”

“Oh, don’t be difficult, sir.You know what I mean.”

His PA was commiserative.Gift horses should not be looked in the mouth, one would suppose.The would likely spit and hay-laden spit did not contribute positively to one’s appearance.

“Very well, yes I do.”

“I tried to keep you out of this, but it’s honestly… well, this is serious.I had no other choice.”

“Yes, I concur.And, in any case, Gregory was also called away, so our evening was well and truly disrupted, regardless.”

“I would hope so.”

Pardon?

“Pardon?”

“Well….”

“Anthea?”

“I… might have suggested that Detective Inspector Lestrade was an appropriate choice to handle the murder investigation due to his stellar record and previous successes liaising with representatives of the government.That would be you, but nobody needed to know that.”

“You… you had Gregory assigned to the investigation?”

“I had to!You would have been mooning about, riddled with guilt that you ruined your and the Detective Inspector’s nice evening and this way, you _both_ had to ruin it so nobody actually ruined it at all!Except the terrorists, of course, but that’s rather what they’re about, so no surprises there.”

There was a perverted in logic in there that Mycroft had to admire.And he _would_ have suffered a miserable guilt over the termination of their evening. Their grand and glorious evening.Where there was romance.And passion.And the physical expression of such things in the most awe-inspiring manner possible.To kiss his Gregory… it was sublime.So many times he had imagined such a thing… so _very_ many times and not a single of those imaginings compared to actual thing.The taste, the feel… the way Gregory responded to his ardor… it was all beyond his wildest dreams.

And his partner was equally enthused.So clearly wanted his touch, something he… well, he would not say he despaired of finding someone who would feel such a thing, because Mycroft Holmes did _not_ despair, it absolutely was not in his nature, but if he had, it would have been a bleak feeling that he had long practiced hiding.But, he had no need for hiding anymore…

“Sir?”

Can you not allow me even one moment to bathe in the contentment of my new status?Is a mere flicker of memory, the smallest mote of reflection on the majesty of his night too much to ask?Hmmm… when terrorists were threatening catastrophic loss of life and property – yes.Yes, it likely was.

“Ah, of course… and you are correct.It was a, shall we say, informed and strategic decision that gained its desired result.”

“Good.Especially since… it was going well, wasn’t it?”

“That is entirely none of your business.”

“Tell me.”

“It was going _very_ well.”

“Yes!I knew it would.Oh, sir… I’m so happy for you.Really, I couldn’t be happier.Are you… you’re seeing him again, right?”

“It has been agreed upon, yes.Good heavens!Does it hurt to punch the air so forcefully?”

“It’s a younger persons’ gesture, sir, nothing to concern yourself about.Unlike, unfortunately, the current terror alert.”

“True.Then let us make a start.I will need everything gathered in the last several hours…”

Anthea made constant note of Mycroft’s orders, but let her mind run free in the bright, flower-filled garden that was the other important situation of the night.Mr. Holmes was practically glowing!And she would suffer the pain of death before letting it be known that she may, _may_ , have activated the car’s surveillance system and watched her boss on the ride here.The fond smile.The dreamy eyes.The evening had gone very, _very_ well and if, at barest minimum, kissing hadn’t been involved, she’d eat her shoes with jam.

Further, since these were new shoes, if it took some intervention to keep this initiative on track, she was more than happy to prod her boss in his arse with whatever sized stick was required to keep him moving in the proper direction.After the terrorist issue, of course.Couldn’t have that lot mucking up Mr. Holmes’s love life a second time… London might not survive his wrath if it did…

__________

“Well, Anderson, what do we have here?”

A DI who looked paradoxically glowing and glowering at the same time. That was interesting.

“Dead body.And other stuff.”

“Funny.This is actually a…”

“Vital matter?National security?Believe me, the people in the nice suits have impressed that on us only about a hundred times.Though, I have to say, they do it politely.I suspect they have to take a class in politeness when being massively intrusive pains in the arse.”

“I’m sure it’s in the curriculum somewhere, right between shopping for intimidating shoes and how to kill people with a Cornetto. Alright, get me up to speed.”

“Ummm… in a moment.First, you tell me why you look like you just went on your first date with your future spouse?”

RED ALERT!ALL HANDS ON DECK!MAN THE BATTLE STATIONS!PREPARE TO REPEL BORDERS!

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No, you still can’t lie convincingly.It was a good try though.I’d pat you on the head, but it would mess up your date hair.”

The hair.Shite!He hadn’t combed out his for-Mycroft hair.Hair that was a bit cheeky and wild that made Mycroft’s eyes shine _very_ appreciatively.Was he _trying_ to announce his relationship?If it was appropriate to use that term, yet.There _were_ longing looks. And affectionate words.There was touching.Kissing!Promises of more!His brain was even excited!All signs point to the fact that a relationship had occurred.A good one, too.A positive, happy, going-places relationship.Not that, of course, it was officially labeled a relationship.Because it wasn’t.Not yet.Or maybe it was.Was it?

“Look, a man gets called out of his house and only has time to run his fingers through his hair to…”

“Did you stick them in a barrel of product first, because no amount of hair fingers is going to get even those porcupine strands to stick up like that.Sir.”

Stupid forensics person. Noticing details and drawing conclusions like that was his job or something.

“Fine!I may have been enjoying a nice evening with someone, but it was just a little dinner and drinks.”

“Which are critical components for a date.Dinner, drinks, date.Add in dancing and you’ve got the 4-D’s of classical romance.Sorry, Greg.I know the job makes it hard to have a real social life and getting called out during a shared evening doesn’t make it any easier.”

Lestrade heaved a big sigh and nodded knowingly.Every copper went through this but, at least, Mycroft had gotten the call, too, so their evening had been ruined either way.That was a bit of luck, actually, and he was going to consider it a very good omen.He had to… it was too depressing, otherwise.Right now, he could be taking another long taste of his Mycroft.Maybe of his lips or maybe of something else.Tasting would be happening, though… lots of luscious, succulent, ultra-filthy tasting…

“Thanks for that. It was a good night up until then, though, and we… well, we _are_ going to see each other again, so no real harm done.”

“That’s good!Glad to hear he’s not put off by your work schedule, or lack thereof.”

“His is worse than mine, I suspect.We’ll see how things go.”

To recap, from a forensics perspective - Greg had enjoyed a fantastic time, his first for about a century, and was desperately eager for it to happen again with this person who was clearly someone his boss wanted to be more than a casual shag when they had the time.Hmmm… alright, the mission was set.Greg was as insecure about his love life as a spotty-faced, sixteen year-old, so if he needed a good hard shove in the right direction now and then, Philip Anderson was the man to apply it.The number of pints Greg would owe him for the intervention would be countless…

“I’ll expect regular reports, sir, and you know how I appreciate a well-documented report.Now, would you like you meet our cold, stiff friend?”

“I suppose.At least he won’t comment on my hair.”

“I wouldn’t be too certain about that.If anything could raise the dead, it _would_ be your coif.”

“Envy doesn’t become you.”

“The truth hurts, Greg… just be a man and take it.”

__________

What a ridiculous business.Not the actual threat, mind you, which was real and worthy of every bit of the attention he was giving it, but the individuals involved.Their various manifestos read like a child’s tantrum and a poorly-spelled one at that.It was positively galling that these individuals had dragged him away from Gregory, who was suffering his own curtailed evening of relaxation to deal with one of the petulant toddlers who was, likely, too foolish to realize that his usefulness was of limited value and children do not play kindly with their toys.

Unfortunately, he had not been able to spare a moment to check in on that particular investigation which might prove helpful in determining the identities of their quarry, but now… now, there was a lull, as there usually was after the first flurry of activity burned itself out.Another flurry would arise soon enough but… it would not be unwise to use this time to take a personal look at what was one of their few concrete leads.

The fact that Gregory would be there had absolutely nothing to do with the matter.

__________

“Sherlock!Would you… are you sniffing the body!”

“If my methods do not please you, Lestrade, go away.”

“I can’t.There’s no telling what you’ll do with the body if I’m not watching.”

“Was that an attempted jest about necrophilia?”

“No.Not entirely.”

“It was a failure, nonetheless.As it is, you should be honored I responded to your request.My time is highly valuable and this is not, so far as I can determine, worth it’s use.”

“You called _me_ and begged to be given something to do because John was on the verge of murder!”

“I have no memory of that.”

“Do you have a memory of the cup he threw at your head because you filled his favorite one with sheep’s blood?”

“No.”

“Life must be simply pastoral in that head of yours.”

“You have a fixation with sheep.”

As Lestrade debated whether this was a road to follow any further, his contemplations were cut short by the arrival of Anderson, who, as always, prompted Sherlock to react like a cat dangled over a barrel of water.However, it usually didn’t next send Sherlock into a sulk that threatened to cover the world in blackness.

“What is he doing here?”

Lestrade followed Sherlock’s gaze to the large black sedan that was just seeing its passenger exiting the rear door.Oh dear…

“Who’s that?”

Sherlock try to sneer at Anderson and Mycroft simultaneously and ended up looking constipated, much to Anderson’s delight.

“An insufferable busybody.”

“You mean like you?”

__

Mycroft was here.Mycroft.And he’d changed into a suit.A gorgeous suit.A suit that radiated so much power and effortless command that every person in the vicinity was trying to decide if they should salute him.Or suck him.Which was _his_ job, thank you very much, you fucking interlopers.Don’t you remember the discussion about territory?The fact you weren’t actually there for it, or that it wasn't out loud, is completely irrelevant, so back the hell off.

__

“Shut up, Anderson.”

“The truth hurts, I know.I seem to be saying that a lot today.”

“That is because your brain is infinitesimally-small and can only host a handful of thoughts, at best.”

“Yeah, that stung.So, who is…”

“Mycroft.”

“Ok… so, who is Mycroft?”

And why was Greg staring at him like a blind person who had just seen their first sunrise?

“My brother.”

What?Had he heard that right?Sherlock’s brother. _Sherlock’s_ brother. Being stared at by Greg like he wanted to… wait.Mycroft.My-croft.Now, what was that Greg had said…

_ Twat.I don’t want My… my friend to think I’m desperate. _

Oh no.Oh no no no no no.He’d known what that stutter meant, but he’d thought Michael, maybe.Or Milo.Myron, even.Greg was in lust with Sherlock’s brother.Sherlock’s.Brother.The Brother of Sherlock.This had to be a sign of satanic goings-on.Had Greg been stupid enough to actually drink something at Sherlock’s flat?Slipped in the shower and knocked his head?Sherlock’s brother was putting stars in his boss’s eyes and that image was going to require a LOT of alcohol to erase from his brain.The man did have a nice suit, though.

“Ah, Sherlock.How good to see you working for the benefit of the citizenry.”

“Piss off, Mycroft.”

“Hey!Be nice to your brother.”

“You can piss off, too, Lestrade.Though I am not surprised that you would jump at the chance to curry favor with your handler.”

Three sets of angry eyes in his direction wasn’t exactly unusual for Sherlock, but this particular group was slightly more skilled at glaring than the normal riffraff.

“As always, brother dear, your welcome is heartwarming.Now, if I might borrow the Detective Inspector for a moment to better acquaint myself with the details of the investigation?”

Sherlock snorted loudly, but Anderson grinned as Mycroft nodded Lestrade away from their little conversation pod, for a conversation of their own.Which would not, Anderson suspected, have a great deal to do with the case.His boss was being pursued by one of the bespoke lot and that was… well, he’d reserve judgment since the Brother of Sherlock issue was a formidable piece of evidence to contemplate, but… the genuinely happy smile Greg had flashed when he thought nobody was looking was formidable, too…

“Lestrade had best hope Mycroft already ate dinner or he is in grave danger of being mistaken for a roasted chicken and consumed alive.”

Which would probably make Greg very happy, in Anderson’s opinion, based on _what_ was being consumed and how skilled was the consumer with his tongue.

“So… what’s the story on your brother?Banking?Law?”

“Why do you care?”

“There’s yet another civilian trampling my crime scene.Caring is part of my job description for that sort of thing.”

“When he’s not at his feeding trough, Mycroft meddles in governmental affairs to a degree that explains why civilization is crumbling around us.”

Government man.With suit and car.Not one of the lackeys that were scurrying around, but someone higher up.Greg had caught himself a very impressive fish.And… if he was a government man, he had to play better with other children than the shaggy bastard scowling at him right now.Points in the positive column, Mr. Brother of Sherlock…

“Ok, then he’ll understand the necessity of not compromising evidence.That’s all I need to know.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but couldn’t decipher the specific look on Anderson’s, face so he filed it away to pair with a future, potential data point to make a discernable pattern.

“You will be able to factor out his footprints since they shall be similar in depth to those produced by an elephant.”

“Is he made of lead?Is your brother actually a human neutron star?”

“Why are you attempting conversation with me?”

Because you hate it and that makes me happy.

“Because until I get a word with Greg I don’t have much to do, so I thought I’d be polite.We can stand here in silence, though.Awkward, painful silence…”

Sherlock stormed away and the forensics expert congratulated himself on a job well done.Now, it was the actual wait for Greg so he could get the go ahead to move along with the case.Hopefully, his boss didn’t decide to sneak away for bit of trousers-around-the-ankles.There was still a lot of work to do and it would be very nice if he could get a little sleep at _some_ point.Though, with that last image in his mind, sleep would be a hard thing to find…

__________

“Well, Mr. Holmes… I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon.”

Said with a blindingly bright smile.You missed me, Gregory.The message is written on you in script that I could read from the Moon.You are truly a god among men and, from your attentions, you make me feel like one, also.

“I thought it prudent to see what progress had been made on the investigation.Run my eye over the scene to offer any insights I could to your case.”

“And big brother Mycroft’s insights are going to be far more robust and penetrating than little brother’s Sherlock’s could possibly be, I have no doubt.”

Gregory said penetrating.Something about which he should not be giggling like a schoolboy, but Gregory was, also, so the shame was equitably divided.

“Why are you laughing?”

And the sound of joy and merriment attracts the Grim Reaper of Joviality to swing his mighty scythe.

“Murder makes me giddy, brother dear.”

“Why are you here, Mycroft?”

“So very many questions tonight.Are we playing a game?”

“ _Why_ are you here?”

“Mummy spent a fortune on your dental work, Sherlock, so kindly do not undo it by gnashing your teeth with such a shattering amount of force.It you must know, I am here because this incident has ties to something broader in scope than the rather squalid building in which the body was found.”

“Meaning, you are here to make certain the investigation grinds to a halt so your precious government secrets stay well and truly in your jacket pocket.”

“On the contrary, I am here to facilitate matters in any way I can.Though, I do believe Detective Inspector Lestrade has the situation well in hand.”

“Because I am here.”

“Because the Detective Inspector is exceedingly competent at his job and conducts a highly efficient investigation.”

Sherlock’s rude noise was absolutely expected and the older men smiled fondly at what in their mind was the cutest, rudest toddler on Earth.

“Is dementia painful, Mycroft?I only ask because you become utterly intolerable when subject to even the slightest incident of pain or sickness.”

Something Lestrade would certainly keep in mind, though, nursing a head-cold stricken Mycroft Holmes back to health was well within his caretaking abilities.And wouldn’t Mycroft be adorable with a stuffy nose?Petulant with a fever and congestion?Oh god, he was actually looking forward to hacky, wheezy Mycroft and his mountain of tissues.Could life be this good?Was this a dream?Oh… Sherlock was still talking.

“… am perfectly capable of providing this lackluster legion of lawmen with all the information they will need to secure not only the capture, but the conviction of those responsible.”

“Yes, Sherlock, we are all aware of your dedication to preserving law and order.Oh, do pardon me… I meant that we are all aware of your unending need to satisfy your prurient curiosity and have your ego stroked by whomsoever might be willing to apply their hand to your plumage.”

“I have no desire for anyone on Lestrade’s team to lay hands on me!”

“Again, I beg your pardon.I forget that such a privilege is reserved for the good Doctor Watson who, I believe, is currently waiting for you with a loaded firearm for desecration of his favorite tea cup.”

“Alright, you two.Separate corners.Sherlock, your brother’s got a right to be here since this involves an issue he’s working on.Mycroft, Sherlock’s help is always valued by me and the team, even when he’s distracting us with his striking plumage.So, how about you take that plumage back inside, lad, and see what else you can learn.We’ll follow along in a moment.”

Sherlock seethed, but stormed away with a tremendous swirl of his coat, though Mycroft and Lestrade kindly waited until he was out of earshot to laugh about it.

“My brother’s flair for drama is truly impressive.”

“Sherlock has his little ways, but we really do value him, Mycroft.He’s brilliant at what he does and I’m always happy for whatever help he can give us.”

Another reason to embrace Gregory with the entirety of his being.He tolerated Sherlock!How many others could make such a claim?If he were to bring another person into his life, how long would they stay given Sherlock’s continuous juvenile antics?However, the Detective Inspector was already immune.Not that he was thinking that far ahead, of course.Certainly not planning a life together and anticipating the long, blissful years as a couple.That would be both presumptuous and… _ludicrously_ presumptuous.After all, he had yet to have any towels monogrammed or space cleared in his closet…

“Verily, Sherlock is a unique individual, but one who is making his mark on the world and, for that, I am unutterably thankful.And… how are you, Gregory?Do you require anything?Coffee, perhaps?Or, if you have fully digested our lovely meal, a small repast to restore your energies?”

What would it be like to be with someone who actually cared about this overworked copper and made it a point to see how he was doing?Probably the greatest thing in history.So great, they’d make a documentary about it and bore schoolchildren with it for all of eternity.They were too young and foolish to really understand such things, so it wouldn’t be much better than suffering through something about the history of aluminum, but if _he_ had to suffer through those awful documentaries when he was in school, then they damn well could, too!

“I’m fine, though… I’m happy you asked.”

“And your happiness is a matter of great import.”

“As is yours.Too bad we were interrupted or we could have been making each other _very_ happy right about now.”

Gregory was, unequivocally, proposing sexual relations.The accompanying grin was positively scandalous.This was… transcendent!Well, it didn’t matter if he had to return to… legwork… to see this matter closed, it would be done with utmost alacrity so mutual happiness could be assured in a most timely manner.Now, if he could only phrase that in a less 17th-century tone, Gregory might actually continue to agree to sexual congress.Oh dear lord…

“Then I shall spur the wheels of the governmental machine to their quickest pace to see this situation resolved.”

“I fully support the spinning of wheels, in this case.Come on, then, give the scene a look-over for all the really fine details Sherlock’s not old enough to recognize yet.”

“Yes, best get to that before he dribbles pablum over something of relevance.”

Giggling.Had he ever laughed so much in his life?No and that was a sad statement about the life of Mycroft Holmes, but it was of no consequence now, because… Gregory.With the dear Detective Inspector, laughter would be a frequent visitor to his lips.As would other things, but that was a train of thought for another time.Sherlock would suffer permanent mental damage if he caught the slightest whiff of arousal and he had no interest in suffering John’s diminutive wrath when the doctor was informed about the tragedy.The mussing of his suit would be truly irritating…


	10. Chapter 10

Fuck… what had it been?  30 hours?  More?  Less?  He had no clue.  They had been working solidly on this murder investigation with the government suits poking their backs with pitchforks because anything they learned could help with the _other_ issue, so he’d pushed his team hard and, probably minutes before they all dropped like flies, they’d caught a break.  Which led to a lead.  Which veered towards a name that the government types snatched and ran with leaving his people blessedly alone to die where they stood.

     “Go home.  You smell like something we fish out of the river.  In pieces.”

     “Thanks, Anderson.  Really, you’re the best mate a man could have.”

     “Someone has to be a bastion of practicality and clarity and I think being a bastion suits me nicely.”

     “Piss off.”

     “You smell like that too.  Didn’t you take any breaks at all?”

     “Funny.  And I _will_ go home, just as soon as I get some of this paperwork sorted.”

     “Paper doesn’t grow legs and walk away on you if you leave it alone for a night, you know.”

     “How about you go home and that will appease whatever gods you’re trying to impress so you go somewhere other than hell when you die.”

     “Oh, I am.  I was just making my pre-going-home trip to the loo, caught a whiff of a dead rat and followed it to the source.”

     “Bastard.”

     “No, bast- _ion_.  Want me to write it down for you?”

     “If I don’t finish this…”

     “Nothing will happen.  Leave it for tomorrow, which is a nice long ways away since I think it’s still sort of morning.  Or not.  I stopped seeing light and dark about six hours ago.  I’m navigating my smell, which is why…”

     “You got diverted, yeah, your joke just refuses to die.”

     “Bastions are stubborn creatures.  But, seriously, Greg… get some rest.  We did a fantastic job and even the lazy government tits said so, which I wrote down because it will certainly never happen again.  Go.  Home.”

Lestrade sighed loudly, but that didn’t make the paperwork or Anderson vanish, so conceded defeat.

     “Fine.  Look… making a nice pile of my paper, which will patiently wait for me until I come back to take up my pencil again.”

     “Very poetic.  But…”

     “Oh god, now what?”

     “Nothing… it’s just…”

     “Bastion or not, I will kick your arse down the stairs…”

     “I was just thinking that since misery loves company and you’re about as miserable a person as they come…”

     “Yeah?”

     “You don’t have to go home or, rather, _be_ home alone.”

     “What?”

     “Sherlock’s brother… he’s not a bad-looking fellow.  Might even turn _my_ head if I had a taste for the male of the species.  I might, however, be sexually-attracted to his suit.”

     ‘WHAT!  I mean… whatever in the world are you talking about?”

     “If you want people to think you’re not lying, don’t use phrases what like ‘whatever in the world are you talking about.’  This isn’t 1930.”

Shite!  This was the worst thing that… no, _Sherlock_ finding out was the worst thing that could happen, but this was a fucking close second. 

     “I have no idea where you…”

     “Your tongue hanging out while you panted at him was where I got the idea from.”

Double shite!  He knew he was panting!  His mouth felt so cool and refreshed…

     “It’s… it’s not what you think.”

     “Oh?  He’s not the person you were having a grand night with?  Funny that he’s never once showed up at a crime scene until after your special date was impolitely interrupted by all this business.  You’d think that with Sherlock as a brother, he’d make a point of looking over whatever it was the bastard was doing to make sure he wasn’t actually taking notes on how to commit the perfect murder.”

     “Oh, Sherlock already has a ledger of at least thirty ways he could kill someone and get away with it.  The fact that a full half of them involve his brother as the victim tells me Mycroft is well aware of that particular problem”

     “Look at you using his first name like it feels good on the tongue.  Give him a call and see if he wants to meet you for a little coffee.  Or, given what we’ve been through, a good strong drink.  At the very least, ask how he’s doing, because I suspect that end of this is still going strong.”

No, he couldn’t do that.  Could he?  Mycroft was probably hip-deep in plans and schemes trying to get this all managed and wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.  Or would he?  Maybe he’d like a reason to breathe a few moments and get his head put back together again.  If Mycroft’s head ever fractured in a hundred directions like his did on a case, that might be a good thing.  Or not.  Why wasn’t there a manual for all of this!

     “Do you need me to call so you aren’t legally culpable?”

     “NO!  Just… he’s busy and…”

     “And a ‘hello, I was thinking about you’ will probably make his day.  We’ve had this conversation already, I think, but that might be an elaborate hallucination.  _You_ might be an elaborate hallucination, actually, and, in reality, I’m sitting at my desk talking to myself.  I hope somebody pours me into a taxi if that’s the case.”

Thinking about it, if he was _really_ busy, Mycroft probably wouldn’t answer his phone and let it take a message, instead.  That’s what he did when a personal call came through when he didn’t have the time for it.  Then, he could leave the ‘thinking about you’ message and Mycroft could read it at his leisure.  That was the best idea in the world.  Or the best idea in the room.  Maybe the best idea in his head.  _Was_ it a good idea?

     “You’re a lost cause.  Now that I can, with clear conscience, not make a call to the exterminators to take care of our rat infestation, I’m on the way home.  Don’t be far behind me, Greg, and… good luck with things.  Whether you see him today or not isn’t really important, but… just, good luck.  You deserve it.”

Lestrade watched Anderson leave his office and tapped his pencil on the desk a few moments before reaching into his pocket for his mobile.  Which he also tapped on the desk for a few moments.  Then polished slightly with his sleeve.  Then wondered if he should ask for an upgrade.  Then tried to remember if he had a form in his desk to ask for an upgrade.  Then looked for the form, which he didn’t have, so made a note to obtain one so he could petition for the upgrade in question.  Then set down his phone and began tapping his pencil again in a stellar act of circular procrastination.

     “Fuck this.”

Taking up his mobile again, one contact was tapped and the DI waited patiently for the redirection to voicemail.

     “Gregory!  How bracing it is to hear you voice.”

That was a strange voicemail message.

     “Mycroft?”

     “Oh.  Did you ring me by mistake?”

     “NO!  No, I… honestly, I was expecting to get your voicemail.  Thought you’d probably be too busy to answer.”

     “Ah, yes.  In truth, had you rang but half an hour ago, you would have been correct, however, the situation has calmed substantially and I easily have the time to converse.”

     ‘Oh.  Great!  Am I allowed to ask if things are going well with your little problem?”

     “You may and I am happy to report that matters are very well in hand.  As, in a brief amount of time, will be our pesky troublemakers.”

     “Yes!  That’s fantastic news.”

     “And your management of the murder investigation was instrumental in the rapidity of our success.  Thank you for that, Gregory.  I never fear that an issue placed in your hands shall be handled with anything less that the utmost efficiency, creativity and professionalism.”

Alright, that was absolutely a twinge of pride in his gut and not indigestion.  Well done, him.

     “I appreciate that.  I was actually trying to be professional just this minute, but one of my team shamed me into putting aside my paperwork and go home.”

     “A shaming I support fully.  I know that you have yet to see any rest since this began and your body and mind surely need to recover from this exhausting situation.”

     “Maybe, but… you know how it is.  You get so tired that you can’t actually get to sleep even if you try.”

     “Yes, a problem with which I am very well acquainted.”

     “I wager you are.  Any… any idea when _you_ might be starting for home?”

Was… was that a small bit of testing of the waters?  Gregory’s tone certainly indicated there was more to his inquiry than a simple request for information.  Could there be… an invitation on offer, if the timing was felicitous?  Oh, this was supremely heartening… especially since he _could_ accept.

     “At any time, actually.  The need for my presence has passed and those carrying out my direction are most capable of functioning without continued supervision.”

There.  Was that that sufficiently encouraging?  Did he appear unencumbered of burden and carefree?  Likely not, for his mouth would surely suffer rictus if it tried to evince any of that, but one could always hope.

     “That’s good!  Really, that’s good because I know you’ve been at it as long as me and that’s a lot for a body to bear…”

No pausing!  I must self-assess and your pausing, Gregory, is certainly not facilitating that goal.

     “… but…”

Pausing!

     “… I was wondering if you wanted to get together for awhile?  I was going to suggest getting a coffee, but that might make matters worse.  I… you know, my flat is still pretty much in the shape it was when we left so if you want to stop in for a drink…”

Wow, that was the most tentative, hesitant invitation in existence.  You’ve kissed the man!  Stop behaving like a timid kitten and make use of your kissed-Mycroft-Holmes superpowers!

     “I’d _like_ to have you over, actually, if you’re not too tired.”

Better.  Not great, but better.  You need lessons in this, apparently.  Do _not_ ask Anderson for lessons.

__

Huzzah!  An invitation and specific statement of pleasure with his company!  This was simply marvelous.  Should there be changing into a different wardrobe?  Gregory did appreciate a well-tailored suit and his were especially fine.  However, it was hard to demonstrate an appropriate level of relaxation with a waistcoat a watch chain.  Would a gift of food be welcome?  Something nourishing to offset the very likely nutritionally-deficient fare on which his Gregory had been feeding? In truth, though, they did have food remaining from their feast that would fit the bill nicely…

     “Mycroft?  Are you still there?”

AHHH!!!  You have decades of practice talking and thinking simultaneously!  Why are you so mentally deficient in the presence, virtual or otherwise, of the Detective Inspector!

     “Absolutely.  I was simply… well, to be honest, my mind wandered to the subject of adjusting my wardrobe and obtaining something for us to eat that actually possessed a modicum of vitamins and minerals.”

Laying bare one’s soul was not the worst strategy for begging forgiveness… so long as the person to whom one bared it was unlikely to take a stab at one’s unarmored vulnerability.

     “Hah!  Good to know that someone as brilliant as you can have a little mental walkabout now and then, like I do.  Well, I’d say, since I think in all of that somewhere was an agreement to meet, so wear what is most comfortable and… we could just go to my flat since there’s a lot of food in the refrigerator.  _And_ a lot of alcohol in the cupboard.  If that sounds alright with you, of course.”

Gregory’s flat!  Where there was privacy as well as alcohol!  This was positively delightful.

     “There certainly was agreement in my meandering response and… shall I simply say I shall see you soon?  I cannot pinpoint the exact time due to traffic concerns or other ancillary factors.”

And because grooming oneself to look ones best was not a quick and predictable thing.  His hair gel could be a frighteningly obstructive thing at times and required strong words to do its duty effectively.

     “Great!  I’ll see you when I see you, then.”

     “A stellar plan.  Good day, Gregory.”

     “Bye, Mycroft.”

YES!!!  The timid kitten is victorious!  No, have to get home… stupid papers trying to chain him to his desk when there was fun to be had!  Fuck them and twice for good measure.  Need to check level of tidiness, level of alcohol, freshness of sheets… ok, maybe that last bit was a little forward, but the smart timid kitten planned for every eventuality.  The sexier the eventuality, the more important was the planning, too…

__________

     “Sir?”

Now, where was he?  Not at his desk.  Not in any of the conference rooms, the various data acquisition hubs or analysis sections… she wouldn’t say she checked the staff room because truly horrific crap food was hidden in there and her boss’s willpower wasn’t the strongest at times, but she _had_ and he wasn’t there nor had he been since the chocolate biscuit supply was still topped up.  So, where… ah.  Now, there was an idea…

Anthea crept over to the door the back of Mycroft’s office which led to his private changing room and pressed her ear to the wood, smiling at the sound of frustrated monologue she heard on the other side.

     “Mr. Holmes?  Sir?”

Blast!  Couldn’t a man have a wardrobe-selection breakdown in peace?

     “What?”

A monosyllabic answer said in a curt tone.  This must be investigated.  There was fun to be had.

     “I have a few items for your perusal, sir.”

     “Leave them on my desk.”

     “I think you might want to see them sooner than later.”

Not really, but something has to get the crab to peek out of his shell.

     “Very well.  Just a moment.”

Busy noises and cursing.  That indicated an extreme concern about his presentation.  What might you be dressing for, Mr. Holmes?  And should you be considering how easily what you choose will facilitate _undressing_ at a later point in time?

     “Yes, Anthea.  What is it?”

     “Oh, just few resource allocation reports and performance analyses.”

     “That could have waited until Christmas for my attention.”

     “True, but then you might have toddled off without my seeing your lovely outfit.”

Oh, don’t give me that ‘I’m deducing you’ glare.  I’m being honest for a change!

     “I have no idea to what you are referring.”

     “I am referring to that understated, yet flattering, pullover and those trousers which look very comfortable, yet state clearly you chose them, also, because they look nice on you.  Detective Inspector Lestrade will be very pleased.”

     “And who is to say he shall see any of this?”

     “Well, if it’s not him, then you’re off to see your mother, because that’s what you wear when she wants to go to a flower show and your brother goes live amongst the homeless for a day or two so he’s not on the block to take her himself.”

Damn Anthea’s steel-trap memory!

     “Fine.  I spoke with Gregory and we are going to meet to commiserate over the ordeal of the past many hours.”

     “Where?”

     “It is not your business.”

     “It is if you’re bringing him to your house and you don’t have anything suitable to drink or supplies in your nightstand.”

The impertinence!  However… his nightstand currently housed only headache reliever and tissues at the moment, so he truly was not prepared for anything outside the head-cold area of activity.

     “For your incredibly-meddlesome information, we are meeting at the Detective Inspector’s flat.”

     “Good.  He’s solid and practical, so he’ll be well set with everything you need for a nice visit. And I do mean _everything_ , you lucky, lucky man.”

Well, that was true, at least.  And he was more than a little anxious to see how far his luck would take him once he was behind the closed door of Gregory’s flat.

     “Your tawdry sensibilities are not to your credit, but I cannot discount the general principle of preparedness as an abstract guideline for efficiency.”

     “I’ll give you the links to some very useful and _very_ discrete online companies.”

     “Thank you, but no.”

Now that I know it’s a possibility, I am entirely capable of conducting the proper searches myself for… whatever odd or end might have raised my curiosity at one time or another… of course, knowing the proper search term for said items _might_ be somewhat of an issue…

     “Alright, but it will be on your computer in the folder labeled ‘2005 Greenland Tidal Charts’ when you need it.”

Thank heavens.

     “I am overcome with joy.”

     “You’re welcome.  Now, there’s nothing that actually needs your attention at the moment, or nothing that I can’t sign your name to and nobody will be the wiser, so go and have a nice time.  And remember, sir… you know he likes you, so just relax and enjoy yourself.”

Mycroft waited until he was alone in his office and let out a large, cleansing sigh.  If any of his PA’s blather had merit, and it usually did, but that was completely irrelevant at the moment, it was that Gregory _did_ know his feelings, feelings that were shared so there was no worry he was hoping for something that had no chance of manifesting.  There was a tremendous relief in that, as well as an honest gladness that he was soon enjoy fully if he but set himself in motion.  Just one quick stop in the staffroom for a small measure of fortification prior to commencing the journey.  The chocolate biscuit supply was scheduled to be refilled this morning, so it should be waiting for him with loving arms…

__________

Ok.  Flat tidy.  Teeth brushed… just in case.  Sheets changed… very just in case.  Clothes on back exactly what a man would toss on after a very long day.  None of his tiki regalia because that would imply _some_ effort and this should look effortless.  Simple shirt and trouser combination, but colors _may_ have been chosen to complement hair, which would please Mycroft, as he seemed to think it was something worth looking at.

Now, it was just an issue of keeping calm and collected until his guest arrived.  Luckily, he was keyed up as if he’d taken half-cup of cocaine up the nose, so falling asleep wasn’t a possibility, because if he fell asleep and missed Mycroft’s knock he didn’t deserve whatever Mycroft gazing merrily at his hair might buy him!  Please let this go well… their first not-official-date private time together _needed_ to go well.  You didn’t date the person in your life every single day.  You did… this.  So _this_ had to be worth doing.  If you had a person in your life, that is.  Which he might.  If… sheets.  Or not!  Didn’t need sheets to have something going on with another person.  It was nice, though.  And, with Mycroft, it would be especially nice.  Maybe he should brush his teeth again…

__________

When the knock on the door came, Lestrade most certainly did not squeak like a startled chick, and ran a hand through his Mycroft-pleasing hair before answering.

     “There he is.  And looking very nice, I might add.”

Mycroft looked like a billion pounds.  Maybe two billion.  Pullovers had never been this sexy in the history of the garment industry.

     “Thank you, Gregory.  Might I say the same for you?”

What a scandalous individual… brazenly crafting an outfit that made him appear the most spectacular of men, with the scintillating silver of his hair beckoning both the eyes, and hands, of all those who looked upon it.

     “I appreciate that.  Come in.”

Which Mycroft did and then found himself stepping into Lestrade’s arms in a gesture so natural and un-thought about on both men’s parts that it was as if the kiss was pre-ordained by some holy text.

     “I didn’t know I need that, but… I _desperately_ needed that.”

     “I share fully the sentiment.  I feel now as if the turmoil of the day is well and truly over.”

Very happy that their partner felt as giddily happy about the whole business as they did, each man smiled and kissed again, this time slower and gentler simply to savor the taste and feel of the one they were kissing.

     “Fantastic.  Nothing we have for… breakfast? lunch?... is going to taste as good as that.”

While that was certainly true, Gregory was applying the comparison to the wrong individual.  His Detective Inspector was _indescribable_ …

     “However, we shall, I am certain, test that comparison with all due rigor.”

     “Absolutely!  I am _starving_ … that’s the worst part about days like these.  You don’t spare time for something decent in the stomach and run on coffee, grease, salt and sugar until your body is about to pack it up and let you collapse on the roadside to be picked up by the rubbish collectors when they do their rounds.”

     “With chocolate biscuits being the most health-friendly item on offer, solely for the antioxidant properties of the chocolate.”

     “I am making a mental note of that for future reference.  I’ll get a couple of plates ready, shall I?”

     “Please do.”

Of course, the please do-ing was a bit slow in starting due to the reluctance of the pair to actually let go of each other and another kiss finally gave them courage to brave a solitary existence, for, at least, as long as it took to plate their first real meal since their _last_ real meal from the same containers.  Which would be eaten on the same sofa and accompanied by, after a rather pleading look from Mycroft, the same music.

     “Aahhh… this is heavenly, Gregory.  Such a delightful change from the drudgery of the day.”

     “I haven’t forgotten to pull together some music for you; I’ll get to it as soon as I can so you can have something to listen to at home.”

     “My gratitude is boundless.  And…”

Should he?  Why not?  It was only equitable.

     “… perhaps, we might enjoy a bit of music in _my_ home on occasion, as well.”

     “Really?  I’d really like that!  I wager you have an amazing music system, too.”

     “Oh, I do.  However, the pleasance of the composition is as important to the experience as the electronics that delivers it to your ear.  I look forward to learning how my dwelling fares with respect to the bonhomie of the ambience we experience here.”

     “It’s going to be wonderful, just wait and see.  It’s the company that really makes the difference, so no matter where we prop up our feet, we’re sure to have a super time.”

How encouragingly forward-thinking.  There was a mighty whiff of long-term in that assessment and it suited well the rather solitary bureaucrat in whose home a share of their time would now be spent.  Long term was good.  It was exceptionally good, in fact.  Long-term _might_ have factored quite heavily in certain envisioned scenarios concerning himself and the Detective Inspector.  Gregory would look positively adorable with reading glasses and an atrocious, yet warm, jumper as they sat outdoors at their country on a bright spring day in their retirement years.

     “Excellent.  As is this lovely food.  Still highly palatable after we villainously abandoned it what seems a fortnight ago.”

     “It’s magic.  Food fairies paid a visit.”

     “Then aren’t we fortunate you are in their favor.”

     “I do have a way with the teeny magic folk.”

Mycroft giggled and felt a surge of true happiness thread through his system.  This was what life should offer.  He’d always wondered if the mythos of finding a person who made you happy was possible for everyone or if that was a privilege reserved for an elite few who had somehow lived a life to earn such a blessing.  Apparently not, for his life surely merited no blessings such as this, yet here he was, graced by the most wondrous gift he could ever hope to receive.

     “And, I must say, with larger, non-magical folk, as well.”

That was a bold statement, however, it was not as if the ground had not been laid.  Besides, the Detective Inspector favored the bold for he was a man of quality.

     “Yeah?  Well… I think that’s going to call for something special to drink after we’ve got a good lining to our stomachs.”

The only something special I need, Gregory dear, is the luster of your smile, with which you are now serenading my eyes.  Yes, that was very much a muddled phrase of mental imagery, but now was not the time to fret over imprecision of language.

     “I see.  Perhaps one of your delightful tropical concoctions?”

     “Definitely one of my delightful tropical concoctions.”

     “Then I shall wait with bated breath.  Might it be… potent?”

     “Affirmative.”

Oh, Gregory… do not speak in militaristic terms if you value your virtue.  Sherlock believes his military fascination is a well-guarded secret, the foolish boy, but what _was_ well-guarded was his own weakness for a man in a well-cut uniform.  Not even  Anthea knew of his ultra-top-secret, confidential folder of photographs of Gregory in his uniformed days as police officer.  What a magnificently striking figure he presented.  Almost as magnificent as when he wore his colorful, bamboo-themed relaxation garb.  Truly his Gregory was the gift that kept on giving and Mycroft Holmes was undoubtedly a glutton for gifts…

__________

     “That was exactly what I needed.  Well, part of exactly what I needed, but an important part, so well done me.”

     “I quite agree.  I feel not so bereft of vitality as I did when I left the office and that is a very pleasing thing.  Cocktail now?”

Lestrade laughed and let more laughter echo inside his head as he reveled in how much fun he was having.  Mycroft Holmes in his house, eating cold take-away, anxious for a ridiculous drink in an even more ridiculous mug.  This was heaven.  Really, if heaven wasn’t like this then all those angels could sod off because he was spending the afterlife in a location very far to the south of their puffy clouds and harps.

     “Absolutely!  I’ve got the perfect thing in mind, too.”

Mycroft followed Lestrade off the sofa and made a grand show of being ready to observe as the Detective Inspector gathered his materials.

     “And, does this particular libation have a name.”

     “Oh yeah… a Zombie.”

     “Good heavens… really?”

     “Yep.  One of these will raise the dead.  Two of these will make you one of them.”

Well, that was certainly a challenge Mycroft was happy to accept.  Though his confidence wavered a bit watching the drink-making process.

     “My… you did say it was potent.”

     “This will take rust off of your car.  It’ll take _car_ off your car, too.”

Lestrade poured their drinks into two, in Mycroft’s opinion, highly amusing tiki mugs and added straw, umbrella and even a plastic sword which skewered a cherry and pineapple chunk for good measure.

     “There!  Something special for saving London from those dinner-interrupting bastards.”

     “We did an exemplary job, did we not?”

     “Nobody could have done it better.  That’s why nobody else is getting one of my Zombies.  Shall we?”

Lestrade sauntered back to the sofa with Mycroft hot on his heels.  Both men waited to take their inaugural sip until they were fully seated and the in-unison sigh of pleasure made them giggle like children.

     “This is sublime, Gregory.  Truly, I shall not even remember the past hours of turmoil by the time the last drop has passed my lips.”

     “That’s the point.  Forget your troubles and let your pickled brain replace them with something much nicer to think about.”

     “Hopefully, I shall not forget _everything_ …”

Were these eyes sufficiently teasing?  Woefully hopeful and playful?  The eyes of a mischievous puppy who is charming their owner out of a scolding for a chewed shoe?  Yes!  Gregory was laughing!

     “I hope not!  Some things I’d never want you to forget.  Don’t want to forget them myself, either.”

And I’ll make my point very clear by leaning in and kissing those gorgeous lips of yours Mr. Holmes, and taking a taste of your rum-touched skin.

__

Thank you, Gregory, for being so free with your demonstrations of affection.  As tightly as I control my urges and behaviors, it is a tiny, hidden dream come true to let down the barricades and be part of something spontaneous and done purely because of want.

     “Delicious.  You are one delicious man, Mycroft.”

And, thank you, again, my dear, for fulfilling the even tinier, more deeply hidden dream of being the sort of man who would be _worthy_ of spontaneity and want.

     “As are you, Gregory.  Yours is a warm, spicy flavor that dances seductively on my tongue.”

     “Oh, I like the sound of that.”

     “Then I shall heretofore endeavor to craft for you the most alluring of mental imagery.”

     “Yes!  I very much like the sound of that, too!  I’ll handle the tiki drinks and you handle the sexy imagery.”

Well, if that was his assignment, it would be discharged with utmost competence and creativity.

     “We have an accord.”

     “We make a good team, don’t we?”

Please say yes, Mycroft…

     “We most certainly do.”

He scores!  The crowd goes wild… and, after a few more sips of his drink, something else might be going wild, too…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a lovely Zombie for those whose day makes it necessary:
> 
> 1/2 oz Bacardi 151 rum  
> 1 oz gold rum  
> 1 oz white rum (or two oz of either gold or white rum, if only one kind is available)  
> 1 oz dark rum  
> 1 oz apricot brandy  
> 1 oz lime juice  
> 1 oz pineapple juice (can use 2 oz pineapple juice or 1 oz each pineapple and orange, if desired)  
> splash simple syrup, if desired, to taste
> 
> Mix ingredients other than the overproof rum in a shaker with ice. Pour into Collins glass or tiki mug and top with the overproof rum.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to the end of the journey and it has been a lot of fun, I have to say. Thank you all for your support and kind words for this story and I hope this finale is a good ending for our boys and their rum-filled journey of romance!

Shoes?   No… oh.  Must have divested self of shoes at some point.  Ah, yes!  Gregory made a remark about the salient relationship between feet and personal endowment and they had become unshod to make predictions of the most forward and salacious nature.  Which, if his were accurate would make him a very happy man at some point, hopefully this evening.  Afternoon?  Hang the time.  Time was for wage slaves and bus drivers, of which he was neither.

     “Do you know, Gregory, that it is somewhat strange to be here, relaxing in the most… lackadaisical of manners without you in your standard tiki finery.”

     “My uniform!”

Oh, do not return to my mind the issue of you and a uniform, my dear Gregory.  It is already torture to sit here, knowing your tropically-warm skin is but inches from my touch-craving fingers.

     “Verily, it is that.”

     “I’ve got lots, you know.  Whole collection.  HA!  Come on…”

     “Where?”

     “To find you one, too.  I’ve got some long enough to fit your tall self.”

Lestrade rose from the sofa with only the slightest alcohol-induced wobble and extended a hand for Mycroft to take for a bit of assistance.  Then, to give Mycroft a little pull closer for another kiss.  Which was magnificent.  As always.  Kisses should be magnificent, too.  No matter if they were soft or firm or blazing hot or cozily warm, they should be magnificent or you should be kissing someone else.  So, since these met his completely unbiased criteria, the person he _should_ be kissing was Mycroft, so wasn’t he a lucky boy for getting to do that.

     “I forgot how nice this is.  Think we can even make it to find something to relax in?”

Since a topographical analysis of your flat indicates only one possible room to accomplish that task and that room is one of extreme interest for more than the garments it housed… yes.

     “I believe we can muster the fortitude.  You may lead the way.”

     “It would be my pleasure.”

And, holding Mycroft’s hand like two toddlers at the park, Lestrade blazed a path to his bedroom and flung open the door with a bracing TAH DAH! before continuing on to the closet.

     “See!  A good half of this side is all my tiki wear.  Adding more, too, whenever I get the chance.  Just found this one a couple of weeks ago, actually.”

Lestrade pulled riotous red shirt with gold and green palm trees, along with the occasional hula girl to bolster the already impressive visual interest.

     “Simply spectacular.  We become so staid in this country with our color palette and forget there is more from which to choose than brown, blue and black.”

     “They have their place.  I really don’t want to see one of your majestic suits with this pattern.  I think the juxtaposition might rip a hole in the universe.”

     “Ah yes… that is a very valid point.  Mustn’t disturb the fabric of the universe or Doctor Who might pop in for a stern word.”

     “You watch Doctor Who?  Brilliant!”

     “I take it you approve.”

     “I love that show!  All the way back to when I was a kid.  I knew I liked you Mycroft Holmes.  Here… I’ll prove it.”

Mycroft giggled his way into another kiss and quantified this one as fully 14% steamier than their previous.  Apparently the relocation to a room known for passion had stimulating effects on himself and the Detective Inspector.  The _visually_ -stimulating garments simply augmented the impact.

     “Perfect.  But… I don’t think this is the perfect shirt for you.”

     “No?”

     “No.  At least not today.  Not hitting the right notes for me.”

     “Well, we certainly can’t have that.  Let us see, then, the next candidate.”

Lestrade rummaged through his collection and hmmmed adorably, in Mycroft’s opinion, before pulling out a blue and white specimen, patterned with large hibiscus flowers.

     “This could work.  Goes with your eyes.”

Holding it up to get a better picture, the DI took a moment to admire those gorgeous eyes and let his moment be very obvious to the man whose eyes they were.  Much to Mycroft’s extreme delight.

     “And shall this be the one?”

     “Yeah.  Yeah, this will do.  Why don’t you try it on?”

Was that him or the rum talking?  He’d just asked the British Government to try on a tatty shirt in his bedroom.  With him in it!  Which was actually _exactly_ what he’d wanted to ask, but the first rule of  tiki drinks was don’t make any decisions while under the influence of tiki drinks.  Unless you’d already made said decision, in truth, but needed a little liquid courage to inform another interested party about it.  And the look in Mycroft’s eyes was being a bit loud about screaming ‘interested,’ so the, again, aforementioned decision was a good one, regardless of the amount of rum involved.  It had been a _lot_ of rum, too…

     “Yes, I expect that is the proper path to take when considering a garment.  One m…moment…”

Good heavens, was that a stammer!  Well done, Holmes.  Shriek to the four winds that you are wildly excited about putting your flesh on display for Gregory to behold.  Which was certainly not what you usually feel in such situations, but that was because the person beholding your flesh in those few and marginally-satisfying situations was not the person about whom you’d _dreamed_ about doing this very thing.   Along with touching.  Perhaps some kissing.  And other things.  Of a rather acrobatic nature when there was sufficient time in their work schedules.  In what folder was it, again, that Anthea was depositing his licentious links?  It had a nautical theme, did it not?

Wondering if he was doing this too swiftly or too slowly, Mycroft stripped off his shirt and felt a shudder run through him hearing Lestrade’s very appreciative hiss.

__

Mustn’t get hard!  Not from the first glimpse at Mycroft’s half-naked body.  He wasn’t a teenager!  Mycroft wouldn’t do with teenagers the sort of things _he_ wanted to do… and he couldn’t look like he had a teenager’s staying power, either.  No blowing on the count of three for Greg Lestrade!  It took a much larger count for that.   Double-digits, at the very least.  Mature counting, partner-pleasuring counting was what he was about so none of that randy trouser business.  Oh look, his partner-to-be-pleasured needed some help…

     “Here… let me help you put this one on.”

Why thank you, my dear.  And do continue to stare at my exposed form with lust-glazed eyes, if you would be so kind.  What an incredibly stirring thing… Gregory found him pleasing!  Not conversationally or collegially, but physically!  This was astoundingly wonderful.  Though not as wonderful as the brush of his Gregory’s fingers across his shoulders as he guided the new shirt into place.

__

Ok, that was perfect skin.  Pale, cool, smooth and fucking magical to touch.  It was like touching a fantasy with skin made of clouds.  That made no sense but all’s fair in the mind after one whole Zombie’s gone down the throat.  And Mycroft had chest hair.  He’d pictured the tall, elegant man as fairly sleek, but there was a very manly showing up there in front that was practically begging for his fingers.  God but he loved chest hair… and cloud skin.  And spicy lips.  Really, it was all just one magnificent thing after another…

     “Yeah, this is the one.  Look how gorgeous that looks on you.”

And how gorgeous you look in it, too.

     “Oh my… this is a most striking presentation.”

Mycroft looked at his reflection in Lestrade’s mirror and admired what was a completely unique and unprecedented appearance.  He never showed even the smallest touch of whimsy with either his business or casual attire, but… this.  This was staggeringly whimsical and he positively adored it. In private, of course.  With his Detective Inspector looking on with an incalculable fondness and appreciation in his eyes…

     “It’s fantastic, is what it is.  Comfortable?”

Wildly.   The fabric was pleasant on his skin and the cut was generous.  Partly, the latter was due to Gregory’s more vigorous frame, but it was glorious, nonetheless.  In addition, there was sense of profound relief in wearing something purely for enjoyment and he treasured that as much as the tactile delight of the cloth.

     “Exceedingly.  I easily can imagine donning such a thing when there was nothing on my day’s horizon but a measure of much-anticipated rest.”

     “And alcohol.”

     “Undoubtedly.  Really, I must, again, state my pleasure with the colorful and copious libations that you have provided during these most relaxing of times.  They are simply… hmmmm… let me think…”

     “Relaxing?”

     “The very word!  And, also, fantastically tantalizing on the tongue.”

Did you just peek your tongue out at me, Mycroft?  Did you?  Do you know… do you have any idea how dangerous that is when there’s chest hair in the room?  Well, two can play at that game…

     “Well, anything I can do to tantalize your tongue is absolutely fine with me.  Now, how about we find you some trousers?”

Gregory Lestrade!  As if I could miss the affected scratching of your abdomen, temptingly close to your groin.  Tantalizing my tongue, indeed, you trollop… and, did you say trousers?

     “Trousers?”

     “I’ve got the perfect pair.  Hold on one minute.”

Lestrade returned to rummaging and, finally, drew out a pair of loose, cotton trousers, much like he had worn on their last not-date date.

     “These are too long for me, so I have to wear them turned up.  Should be perfect for you, though.  Give them a try.  I won’t look.”

But, I _will_ keep my eyes on the mirror where, by lucky chance, I can see everything just fine anyway.

__

Rogue… as if I have not the presence of mind to calculate the angles involved and realize that you are provided with a splendid view of my redressing from the reflection in the mirror.  Is there any possibility my admiration of you shall reach its zenith in this lifetime?  I suspect the answer is a resounding no…

__

Want me to get a pole in here for you to dance with, you… stripper!  Don’t, not for a second, tell me that sinuous motion of your hips as you slide off your neat and tidy trousers is anything less than a dance a courtesan would be proud of.

__

What was that?  A sexually-charged whine of frustration?  Apparently, dear Gregory appreciates a choreographed undressing.  Not that the choreography was necessarily planned, but the inexperienced, though well-intentioned, improvisation seemed to have doing the trick nicely.

     “H…how’s it coming?”

     “Oh, quite well, I believe.  Only a moment longer…”

And ‘longer’ is the right word for you, isn’t it Mr. Holmes?  Those hands and fingers, those feet and toes… that hefty bulge you have in your now-on-display pants that is making my mouth water… 

     “… there.  I believe I am again decent.”

The fuck you are, you seducer.  There’s not a decent bone in that lean, beautiful body of yours.

     “Hey!  Those look like they were made for you.  Really, that’s a brilliant thing.”

Mycroft took a long look at himself in the mirror and felt no shame at the large smile that broke out on his lips.  This was so utterly atypical of him, but… how desperately he wanted to giggle at his joy from the sight.

     “I have never, in my all-too-plentiful years, worn such an ensemble, yet I am positively ebullient at this moment.”

A rather substantial reason for which was currently wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s waist from behind and peering over his shoulder.

     “And you look it, too.  Really, I don’t ever think I’ve seen you so… lit up like a Christmas tree.”

Mycroft was so gorgeous… so bloody, fucking gorgeous.  And felt so good to hold.  _And_ to kiss… there was just so much of that long, smooth neck to kiss…

__

Truly, this was paradise.  Adorned with clothing worn purely for pleasure and… being the _recipient_ of pleasure from the handsomest man in existence.   And the experience was all the more intense given the sheerness of his trouser fabric which allowed for a highly welcome sensation as his Detective Inspector moved against his backside during the bestowment of said ecstasy.

     “Do I taste acceptably flavorful, Gregory?”

     “Best thing ever. “

     “The do carry on.”

Was that a green light?  If so, for what?  Why was he so stupid!  Well, go big or… STOP!  Oh my god, what is wrong with you?  You’ve got your most precious dream in your arms and you’re wasting time thinking!  Smarten up and do what feels right… and nothing in the world has ever felt more right than this…

Lestrade hummed into Mycroft’s skin as he held him closer and ran a hand up under the borrowed shirt, to take his first real feel of his partner’s skin and the expanse of hair that had been beckoning his fingers since he’d seen it revealed.  Sensing Mycroft’s stomach flutter as he touched it was simply an immensely-welcome bonus.

     “You make all my senses happy, Mycroft.  You’re absolutely amazing to me… so perfect and gorgeous like no one I’ve ever seen.”

Dear Gregory, if you had but an inkling of what your words mean to me.  So many years repressing the hope that someone would see him in that manner… cementing in his mind that it was unnecessary.  Distracting and detrimental, even.  On his most arrogant… and lonely… days, asserting his confidence that the opinions of others had less than no meaning for him and he was unapproachably above their reach, in any case.  Which, he could now claim was the correct decision, for it allowed him to wait until the _right_ person could be the first to stir those emotions in him.  And stir something else… Gregory’s hands were magical…

__

Mycroft’s body was magical… it drew his hands exactly where Mycroft wanted to be touched with nothing but the slightest hitches and tremors.  And the sounds… the soft sighs and even softer moans were making his blood sizzle in his veins.

     “T… tell me if you want me to stop, Mycroft.”

     “That is something I shall _not_ be doing.”

This time it was Lestrade who let out a soft, low moan and he took that statement as permission to continue his explorations until there wasn’t any way he could keep ignoring the part of Mycroft that was desperately trying to gain his attention in the firmest and most adamant manner possible.  The great thing about tropical lounging trousers was you could feel _everything_ you touched through them.  And the person you were touching could feel everything, too.

     “Gregory…”

     “So hard for me.  Do you know how that makes me feel?  A brilliant, beautiful man like you hard as steel for me…”

His Gregory could not be experiencing anything remotely close to what _he_ was feeling at the moment because there was nothing, nothing at all, to compare to being worshipped so lovingly… caressed so tenderly… rocked against in the most lascivious manner… and how on Earth did Gregory know parts of his anatomy adored being gently cupped and held while other bits received more vigorous stimulation?  Was the man some form of sexual magus?

__

This was too perfect.  Everything about Mycroft was drawing him in and binding him in the most unimaginably-sensual spell… the man smelled of sex!  Not the hormones and the sweat and the musk, but… the fun and the joy and the pleasure and the electricity and nobody should be able to do that unless they were some form of sex genie.  Which Mycroft easily could be.  He certainly responded well to having his bottle rubbed.

     “ _Yes_ …”

     “My Mycroft likes that.  Then he’ll get all he wants.  But, maybe…”

Another nice thing about tropical lounging trousers was that they had loose waistbands, which made it very easy to slip a hand inside.  And Mycroft’s silky soft boxer-briefs didn’t put up much of a fight either.

     “Gregory, I… oh dear lord that is… just a little more…”

     “I’ll make you happy, love, don’t you worry about a thing.  In fact, why don’t I get onto that in earnest?”

Lestrade nipped lightly at the very base of Mycroft’s neck and guided him carefully back a few steps so they stood at the foot of the bed and smiled wickedly at the small whine that accompanied him removing his hand from its special duty.

     “Noooo, don’t be upset, love…”

How could he not?  Gregory had removed all contact from his nethers!

     “Shhh… no no no, don’t make those sounds.  Those aren’t the ones I like, all frustrated and unhappy.  Here, something to make you feel better.”

Lestrade stepped around and gave Mycroft the sort of kiss he had longed for since he’d first seen the man and made his own happy noises when Mycroft responded in kind.  This kiss wasn’t tentative or playful or tender… it was fiery and bold and passionate and the fact that the DI made certain to press and rub together certain anatomical parts simply spiraled the flames higher.

     “Now, let’s get you ready…”

Not that Mycroft had a moment to ponder what that meant as the DI was on his knees, slowly sliding the soft, cotton trousers down from Mycroft’s hips, stopping to nuzzle the dark charcoal underpants that their owner was straining near to tearing before hooking his fingers into those, too, and dragging them down to Mycroft’s feet for Mycroft to step away from.  He could only hope that his gulp of amazement wasn’t audible because he didn’t want anything to tip this phenomenal man out of the mood.

Pressing a kiss right at the tip of his partner’s very eager erection, Lestrade then took a prolonged, slow lick and smiled, hearing Mycroft’s sharp intake of breath.  His lover, and yes, that word was now perfectly appropriate, was spectacular.  Legs a mile long that framed a nicely heavy gift that he planned to enjoy to its fullest.  Starting now, actually, with a tiny slurp that drew just the head into his mouth to swirl with his tongue, like he was enjoying the most delicious of sweets.  And two, very plump sweets were hanging just below that which simply relished being tended to properly and with loving care.

Mycroft wondered if it was actually possible to see bliss because his eyes were filled with the most astonishing color/texture/vibration and his body… oh, his body was screaming at him to beg for more.  Not that begging was necessary, of course, for Gregory was listening to his unspoken need with full attention and providing him all the sensation his body craved.

     “So gorgeous… let’s get a look at more…”

Another small moan of abandonment had to be kissed away from Mycroft’s lips as Lestrade stood and began to undo the buttons of his lover’s new shirt.  A shirt that showcased his hairy skin so perfectly that Lestrade couldn’t bear to take it from his shoulders and let it hang open while he ran hands over the newly-exposed flesh.

     “I love this.  Love all this hair.  You’re stunning, Mycroft.  Positively stunning…”

Before Mycroft could respond, which was sort of the point, Lestrade guided him back onto the bed and let his lips take the place of his hands, laying kisses along Mycroft’s chest and down to his belly, where he lingered because the softness was unbelievably beguiling.  And it gave him time to work himself out of his own trousers, which had been uncomfortably tight since he’d begun to show this amazing creature how much he’d wanted to have him in his arms.

     “Now, you just lay there and feel, alright, love?  Let me make you happy the way you deserve.”

And that was Lestrade’s cue to take Mycroft’s cock into his mouth, going deeper with each stroke until his partner was practically writhing from the experience and his breath was coming in short, quick pants.  Before their activities could come to an abrupt end, the DI pulled away and shushed Mycroft’s agonized whine while he carefully pushed up his lover’s legs until Mycroft’s feet were flat on the bed and there was far better access to areas that he’d learned his partner greatly enjoyed being played with.  Apparently, a gentle, yet firm, bollock cupping was as satisfying when done in the mouth as when done with his hand, and, this way, he could use his tongue to best advantage, something that made his lover very vocal, though not all of it was readily identifiable as words.

     “Gregory… _p…please_ …”

So much need and want in that little stutter that Lestrade almost wanted to give the man in his bed a quick release, but… no.  No, this needed to be dragged out for awhile longer.  Mycroft had to know that _he_ was the only person who could make him feel this way.  Could read his body like a book and give it exactly what it wanted.

     “I will.  I promise I will.  I’ll give you everything you want.  You just relax and enjoy it.”

Enjoy?  He had vaulted so far beyond enjoy that the term was meaningless.  Gregory played his body masterfully, drawing out sensations he had never before experienced.  He had mewled for pity’s sake!  Made the lewdest of sounds and felt not a whit of shame for it.  His Gregory was incomparable…

__

Mycroft was absolutely beyond compare.  His body was _so_ responsive and everything he had fantasized about when he lay in bed at night with his hands doing filthy things to himself were things he could do to _Mycroft_ now and just the thought of that was making his own cock throb, even though he’d only given it a little rubbing against the blankets as a reminder that it’s turn was coming soon enough.  Just had to shatter this magnificent man’s mind into a million pieces first…

Lestrade licked, stroked, sucked, fondled and kissed for what seemed like an eternity in Mycroft’s brain, though he’d lost all concept of time an age ago.  Every time he came near his orgasm, Lestrade changed tactics and stoked a new fire of pleasure up to the point of explosion.  His body was in a constant state of euphoria, with his hands gripping the bed coverings with all his strength, if only to spare his lover’s beautiful hair a cruel and painful fate.

     “So fucking sexy… can’t believe how sexy how are.  And you taste delicious…”

This slurp drew Mycroft’s cock as far into Lestrade’s mouth as it could go and the DI set a firm, fast pace that had Mycroft gritting his teeth to hold back the shout that was rising in his throat as quickly as his orgasm was in his loins and lost both battles loudly and messily when his release began to paint the back of his lover’s throat.

Only after he’d drawn out every last drop of satisfaction, Lestrade lay a few tender kisses on Mycroft’s spent flesh and straddled his partner’s thighs to admire his work.  Destroyed.  Mycroft was completely and utterly destroyed.  Debauched, destroyed and devastated… lots of very happy D’s.  It was just missing one thing and, knowing Mycroft was watching every movement, Lestrade took his own aching erection in hand and began to put on a show for his lover’s viewing enjoyment.

     “That’s perfect… you watching me is… oh that feels fantastic.  You’re unbelievable, Mycroft.  Sexy and brilliant and your body makes me boil just to touch it.”

Mycroft breathed through his aftermath and was absolutely transfixed by what he was seeing.  Such a man… such a man was one that could not be lost.  He had to be treasured and cherished and celebrated… for as long as was humanly possible.

     “And I boil seeing the passion in your eyes, my dear.  Feeling the heat of your skin and tasting the flavor of your lips.  I crave you, Gregory Lestrade, and I do not lose my cravings easily.  In fact, I do not lose them at all.”

Lestrade moaned loudly both from the physical and the emotional pleasure.  Was Mycroft offering…

     “Y… you and me?”

Mycroft ran a hand along Lestrade’s trembling thigh and purred at the feel of the heat of his DI’s skin.

     “Yes.  Does that please you?”

All Lestrade could do was nod because his mind had gone to a place he had never thought it would be allowed to go.  A place where he had this man in his life, as well as in his bed, and that was as stimulating as the hand that was now taking over bringing him off, something which happened almost the moment Lestrade opened his eyes and looked into Mycroft’s, to see the honest hope and happiness they contained.  Which was the right thing to do, of course… marking up _his_ man properly and intimately to seal their deal.  Yes, Mycroft’s offer pleased him… it was his greatest dream come true.

     “Yeah… it does.”

     “Then we are of like mind and, I believe, on the path to something truly remarkable.”

Mycroft drew Lestrade down for a kiss and this one _was_ warm and tender, one that spoke volumes on the subject of affection and what it could, and most hopefully would, grow into with his Gregory.  If they were not already at that point, that is, which he was not at all prepared to discount.  He would be prudent, naturally… acknowledge the possible effects of both intimacy and alcohol on his emotions, however… he _had_ emotions!  That, in itself, was highly impactful evidence.   But… prudent.  Gregory’s eyes told a tale, though.  There was an answering feeling in those eyes that was its own reassurance that said intimacy and alcohol weren’t clouding his mind.

     “You’re incredible, Mycroft Holmes, do you know that?”

     “Yes, I am burdened with glorious purpose.”

     “Loki!  You saw that film?”

     “And if I did?”

     “I see a film marathon in our future.”

     “How delightful!  I… I will admit to, perhaps, unexpected tastes in film, or, at least, unexpected to those who do not know the man I truly am.  A list, I am both happy and mournful to say is incalculably large.”

     “Maybe a little smaller now, though?  Or, at least, getting there?”

Mycroft, completely ignoring the state of his cleanliness in a very uncharacteristic manner, rolled on his side and situated Lestrade next to him, so he could look into his lover’s rich, brown eyes.

     “Without question.  And only you seem able to guide me to discover new things about myself, something I thought, truthfully, was not possible.”

Another long kiss filled each man with a soothing warmth and feeling of contentment so profound it seemed that it already was a natural part of their being.

     “Will you… well, you see what I’ve got to offer, but will you stay awhile?  Maybe get a nap before… I mean, it might be nice to catch an hour or two of sleep what with everything going on.  I’m sure you didn’t see a wink and that’s not good for a body.”

His Gregory… so protective and, undoubtedly, so comfortable to rest against.   What a deeply fulfilling thing it would be to slumber with this man each night and wake with him each morning…

     “I would be honored.  And most grateful for the chance to, shall we say, rejuvenate.  However…”

Mycroft looked down at the remaining results of their lovemaking and Lestrade burst out laughing.

     “Time for a shower!  Which sounds like a brilliant idea to me, anyway.  Lathering up that gorgeous body of yours under hot, steamy water…”

Another activity which would feature prominently on Mycroft’s list of future domestic activities with the Detective Inspector.   As well as hours spent indulging in a particularly large bath that was nicely supplied with massaging jets and endless amounts of hot water.  Which someone, who might be him, happened to own.

     “A superb idea.  And, perhaps…”

     “Hmmm?”

     “One more small cocktail?”

     “Hah!  Another brilliant idea!  I’ve got the smartest man in the world in my bed and nobody can tell me anything different.”

Lestrade gave Mycroft a kiss, then made a grand show of taking a deep breath before hopping out of bed and raising his hands in victory for successfully prying himself away from his lover’s body.

     “On hot shower, one Wahine and then right back here to relax a little before our nap.”

     “Wahine?”

     “You’ll see.  It won’t blow the top of your head off, but it’s tasty.”

     “Oh, good.  I do prize my hair quite dearly.”

And so did Lestrade… especially when it was sex-messy and showing a few waves that Mycroft’s gel normally browbeat into submission.

     “Let’s get started, then.  May I escort you, sir?”

Lestrade held out his arm for Mycroft take, prompting his bedmate to finally rise and join him in the standing position, which, of course, led to another kiss before the two finally made it out of the bedroom to start the next segment of their first day as a couple.  And, somehow, both men knew that things would only get better from here…

__________

     “Lestrade!”

Sherlock scowled as he peered past the just-picked lock of the door to Lestrade’s flat and swore under his breath.  This was intolerable!  None of Lestrade’s team would give him the information he wanted about the terrorist case and the useless Inspector was nowhere to be found.  ‘Detective Inspector Lestrade is in a very high-level meeting this morning and we don’t know when he’s coming in.’  Ridiculous.  That sounded like something Mycroft would concoct, it was so fatuous.  Actually, he’d gotten a similarly idiotic response when he talked to his brother’s insufferable PA when he’d tried to get the same information from that end of things.

Well, if they thought the dreary bureaucratic obligations of their flabby positions would dissuade him from getting the information he needed they were as foolish as he always believed they were.  Lestrade usually wrote out his thoughts during his cases and left his scratchings in notebooks and on paper scraps in his flat, so what he needed very well could be here.  Apparently not in the kitchen, though, which was good since it was filthily riddled with… hmmm.  Lestrade’s last meal had not been taken alone.  No matter.  It was not a romantic assignation, that much was certain, so his brain was safe from any disgust-promoted atrophy.  Lestrade’s love life was as barren and sterile a… well, as Mycroft’s.  Which was the lowest possible benchmark for humanity, so he almost felt sorry for the Detective Inspector.  Time to look elsewhere…

Shoes.   Two pairs.  Two men pairs of men’s shoes.  One quite new and highly expensive.  And two of the ghastly goblets Lestrade thought nobody knew about because he was feeble-witted.  Oh no.

_ The room was romantically tainted. _

The mere thought of Lestrade and another elderly man engaging in… it was too horrible to contemplate.  Why wasn’t John here?  He was a doctor.  He must have a pill or poultice to take away the agony.  At least the debacle seemed to be… shoes.  Shoes of that expense would not be left behind by the owner, so the debacle could _not_ be over, unless the poor victim came to his senses and fled in terror seeing the full horror that was Lestrade first thing in the morning.  It was the stuff of nightmares…

Very well.   Without documented proof of the imminent arrival of the Apocalypse, he could not, in good conscience, continue with his investigation when his direct action might be required to announce the End of Days, which would surely be nigh if the pensioners were engaging in intercourse.

Moving quietly towards Lestrade’s bedroom, Sherlock tried to remember what hand gestures were required to ward off evil spirits and bad omens, and carefully opened the door to peer inside.  The despair was exactly as crippling as expected.  Two bodies clinging to each other in Lestrade’s cramped bed.  There was, perhaps, some comfort in the fact that Lestrade’s partner in gag-inducing activities wasn’t as sadly gray-haired as the plodding policeman.  In fact… he knew that hair.  Even if he couldn’t see the face because it was buried in Lestrade’s neck, he knew that hair.

_ Oh no. _

_ Oh no no no no no _

THE APOCOLAYPSE HAD ALREADY ARRIVED AND NOBODY HAD BOTHERED TO INFORM HIM!

A high-level meeting... balderdash!  Balderdash balderdash balderdash!!!  They were ushering in the downfall of civilization from this squalid bedroom!  JOHN!  JOHN!!!!!!

     “Good heavens!  What in Hadrian’s name…  Sherlock?”

Oh.  Had he said that last bit out loud?

     “SHERLOCK!  What the fuck are you doing here?”

     “Expiring quickly.”

     “Then go and do it elsewhere, brother dear.”

     “I cannot.  My legs no longer function.”

     “You _cannot_ claim creeping paralysis, Sherlock.  That excuse was well and truly done to death when you were ten years old and worried Mummy near to baldness for a month while you shammed the incremental loss of function in your limbs to avoid taking the handicrafts module your headmaster decided to institute into the school curriculum.”

     “I am seeing sounds.”

     “Mycroft, I think he’s actually suffered a breakdown.  He hasn’t blinked once.”

     “Worry not, my dear…”

     “NO!  There shall be no endearments in my presence!”

     “Then your presence shall be a blessedly-rare thing in our lives for I have full intention of showering Gregory with endearments whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

     “Do not refer him as Gregory.”

     “Would Androcles be better?”

     “You are not amusing, Mycroft.”

     “I am also not clothed.  Think on that a moment and if your continued presence will bring you anything but unending regret.”

Sherlock’s exit from the bedroom broke the sound barrier and, when the older men’s hearing was restored, they could finally hear each other’s laughter.

     “We’re in for a world of grief with him, you do know that.”

     “Oh, I would say we have labored in that condition for a great while already, myself since Sherlock’s birth when he bit me with the one tooth that protruded from his infant gums.”

     “You know, you’re right.  All’s normal in the world, then.”

     Mycroft drew Lestrade into a long and ardent kiss, then nuzzled his neck, breathing in the spicy smell of his skin.

     “No, I would not say normal, for my world has been substantially tilted from its standard axis and I could not be happier for it.”

     “Again, you’re absolutely right.  And… wait a minute…”

     “Gregory?”

     “It’s light in here.  Really brightly light.”

Mycroft looked around and his own light dawned in his mind.

     “It is morning.”

     “We must have slept like the dead!  I haven’t done that in years, even after a misery of a case like that one.  You’re good for me, Mycroft, in ways I’m finding out every day I know you.”

Something that had Mycroft’s complete agreement.   He, also, did not sleep soundly; it was simply not his nature, but, apparently, what he had lacked was the proper person in his bed to make that slumber a truly restful one.  However…

     “And you are unquestionably, as you say, good for me, Gregory.  I do wonder, though… were you not scheduled to work today?”

     “Shite!  You’re right!  And…”

Lestrade rolled to look at his clock and squawked at the hour with which it was taunting him.

     “I am _so_ late.”

     “I am not entirely certain.”

     “What?”

     “A moment…”

Mycroft looked around and found his trousers, leaning out of the bed to retrieve his mobile from his pocket.  After a few taps, he released both a hiss and a resigned chuckle, both of which confused Lestrade enough to forget being late for work.

     “You ok, love?”

     “Did you know that we are currently in a closed-door meeting today about our mutual interest of late and it is a meeting that shall likely last the entire day?  Further, interruption of said meeting will be looked upon with _extreme_ disfavor and woe  be it to those who dare tempt such a fate.”

     “Oh.  That sounds fun.”

     “Indeed.  I believe it is meant to be.”

Damn that meddling Anthea!  How dare she read his mind and implement his stay-in-bed protocol before he had the chance to do it himself!

     “So… does that mean we have the day to ourselves?”

     “That it does.”

     “I can think of a lot of things to do with all that free time.”

     “Do any of those things involve the location on which we currently find ourselves reclining?”

     “Quite a few, actually.”

     “Then, let us begin with that portion of your list first.  I do find efficiency terribly arousing.”

And an aroused Mycroft was something Lestrade highly endorsed, signaling his approval with a kiss that threatened to melt his partner into a puddle of joy.  Fiery, needy joy, but joy nonetheless.  And they had all day to savor kisses such as these.  As well as many other things they could do with their lips.  And hands.  And other body parts that were quickly sloughing off their sleep and taking a very large interest in the proceedings.  This was going to be a great day.  And it was only the first of what he hoped was a long line of seeing his Mycroft, majestically disheveled and disarrayed after a good night’s sleep and a better night’s sex.  The hope level here was incredibly high, but nobody ever said Greg Lestrade was afraid of a little hope…

_ Six months later _

     “You know this is silly.”

     “I do and that is why you are enjoying it immensely.”

Lestrade laughed and, as always, adored his lover’s very perceptive mind.

     “Yeah, I won’t even bother to lie.”

     “That is good for I might retaliate by steering you into a direction that would lead to a painfully stubbed toe.”

This time, both men giggled like children, but Mycroft kept his hand firmly placed over Lestrade’s eyes as he walked his partner and, as of today, housemate towards the little surprise he had planned.

     “I’ll be good I promise.  You didn’t have to do anything special, you know.  I was almost living here for the past month anyway.”

     “The most treasured month of my life.  Though it shall face stiff competition in the years to come.”

Something both men had, at least between themselves, already agreed upon.  There _would_ be years to come because they’d found the person with whom they wanted to spend the rest of their years.  Living together was simply the first step in making their relationship formal and easing Sherlock into the idea that he would, in the easily foreseeable future, have a brother-in-law.

     “Flatterer.  How much longer do I have to wait?”

     “The span of a few more steps.  One moment more… and, yes.  Here we are.  Are you ready?”

     “Are you serious?”

     “No, but it amused me to follow the tradition of revealing the surprise.”

     “I love that you’re traditional.  Actually, I just love you.”

     “And I return that love with all my heart.  Alright, I shall remove my hand…”

Lestrade blinked a little in the sudden brightness, but not much because the brightness wasn’t actually very bright.  It was muted and tempered by rich colors and…

     “Oh god.  You did it.  You built my tiki room.”

Lestrade walked into the newly appointed space in a near daze, taking in the point-for-point perfect décor with…

     “My mugs!”

     “All displayed to fully proclaim their personality to all who gaze upon them.  Which, shall, most likely, be the two of us, but the principle is sound.”

     “This… this is why you had me make those sketches, isn’t it?”

     “I must confess that the action was somewhat duplicitous as my interest was more than to satisfy curiosity, but I wanted this to meet as best it could your vision.  And know that I do not consider it complete.  This is unquestionably a work in progress and I look very much forward to fine-tuning it with you to meet precisely your specifications.”

The Detective Inspector hoped his emotions wouldn’t start him blubbering soon because this was… this was exactly the sort of thing he’d always wanted!  Mycroft had taken his sketches and descriptions and… there was the bar and the furniture and the lights all as he’d described… and music!  Mycroft had turned on the sound system and one of his favorite albums was filling his ears…

     “It’s… oh god, Mycroft.  This is… I can’t believe it!”

And his lover had done it right, too.  Put in just enough to make his dream real, but leave enough undone so they could make it _theirs_ instead of _his_ and he could have a hand in the final stages of creation.  His Mycroft was the most wonderful man in the world and his heart felt like it wasn’t big enough for all the love it felt.

     “I take it you approve, my dear.”

Lestrade let his actions speak louder than his words and jumped back to his partner to give him the kind of kiss that stated clearly that extremely torrid sex was officially on their night’s agenda.

     “Thank you, Mycroft.  Thank you from the very depths of my soul.  I love it and I love you.”

     “Then, I suggest we change into something more appropriate and, afterwards, I shall mix for you a celebratory cocktail.”

     “I like the sound of that.  This is going to be incredible!  Though not as incredible as what you are planning for our inaugural drink?  Which would be…”

     “I was considering the first you ever crafted for me.  I believe it was a Mai Tai.”

     “Perfect!  Oh, I have well and truly found my way to heaven.  Man I love in our own tiki room… this is absolute paradise.”

No, what was paradise was seeing his Gregory’s wide and shining smile, which would forever grace his home from this point forward.  Their home, now, actually.  With their own corner of paradise to enjoy whenever time and tide permitted.  Well, there _was_ another corner, but Gregory would not learn of that until their honeymoon, whenever that might take place.  Even the most busy of men deserved a holiday now and then and where better to enjoy such than their own residence, on their own beach, in a truly lovely area of Hawaii, where the breezes were refreshing, the flowers were breathtaking and he controlled every bit of surveillance so that no distasteful videos of himself and his beloved in their preferred relaxation garb, sans shoes, would find itself a home on the blasted Internet.  Without doubt, the years ahead would be beyond anything for which he could have hoped…

     “And look at all this rum!  You know every path to my heart, don’t you, love?”

     “Perhaps.  Though I shall never cease trying to find new ones.”

     “Promise?”

     “Shall I receive a reward if I do?”

     “We can try that little fellow that came in the post yesterday.  In the plain, brown package.”

     “I promise with every speck of integrity bred into my bones.”

     “Reward it is!  This is the best welcome home a man could wish for!”

Though every welcome home would be a magical thing from this point forward.   He had a home now.  Not a flat, not a house, but a home.  And, from the look in his eyes, his Mycroft was thinking the same thing.  Which was fine, because christening a new home correctly took a partner, especially one with a taste for the more colorful things in life.  Luckily, he knew just the man for the job…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And our last cocktail recipe - A Wahine:
> 
> 1/2 oz lemon juice  
> 1 1/2 - 2 oz pineapple juice  
> dash simple syrup (to taste)  
> 1 oz light rum  
> 1 oz vodka
> 
> Mix all ingredients in blender with 1 scoop of ice. Perfect for serving in a ceramic coconut mug with umbrella.


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